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THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS 



1 






THE STORY OF THE 

GADSBYS ' 



A TALE WITHOUT A PLOT 

•p NEvr Yowl 

BY 

RUDYARD KIPLING 



yrM)12{)S 



^uthori^y^ed Edition 



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NEW YORK 
JOHN W. LOVELL COMPANY 

14a TO 150 Worth Strket 

CORNER MISSION FLACS 



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THE NEW YORK 



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PUBLIC LIBRARY 

3U1144A 

ASTOR, LENOX AN» 

TILBBN FOUNDATIONS 

R 1927 L 



Copyright, 1890, 
By John W, Lovell Company. 



•• .•« • • • • • ••• • 

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*•• ••• • 

• • * • • 
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•t W£W York. 

PREFACE. 



To THE ADDRESS OF 

CAPTAIN J. MAFFLIN, 

Duke of Berry's {Pink) Hussars. 

Dear Mafflin, — You will remember that 
I wrote this story as an Awful Warning. 
None the less you have seen fit to disregard 
it and have followed Gadsby's example — 
as I betted you would. I acknowledge 
that you paid the money at once, but you 
have prejudiced the mind of Mrs. Mafflin 
against myself, for though I am almost the 
only respectable friend of your bachelor days, 
she has been darwaza band to me through- 
out the season. Further, she caused you to 
invite me to dinner at the Club, where you 
called I me **a wild ass of the desert," and 

3 



4 PREFACE. 

went home at half-past ten, after discoursing 
for twenty minutes on the responsibilities of 
house-keeping. You now drive a mail-phae- 
ton and sit under a Church of England cler- 
gyman. I am not angry, Jack. It is your 
kismeiy as it was Gaddy's, and his kismet who 
can avoid ? Do not think that I am moved 
by a spirit of revenge as I write, thus pub- 
licly, that you and you alone are responsible 
for this book. In other and more expansive 
days, when you could look at a magnum with- 
out flushing and at a cheroot without turning 
white, you supplied me with most of the 
material. Take it back again — would that I 
could have preserved your fetterless speech 
in the telling — take it back, and by your 
slippered hearth read it to the late Miss 
Deercourt. She will not be any the more 
willing to receive my cards, but she will 
admire you immensely, and you, I feel sure, 
will love me. You may even invite me to 
another very bad dinner — at the Club, 
which, as you and your wife know, is a safe 
neutral ground for the entertainment of wild 



PREFACE. 5 

asses. Then, my very dear hypocrite, we 
shall be quits. 

Yours always, 

RUDYARD KIPLING. 

P.S. — On second thoughts I should rec- 
ommend you to keep the book away from 
Mrs. Mafflin. 



CONTENTS. 



PAGB 

Poor Dear Mamma 9 

The World Without 29 

The Tents of Kedar 49 

With any Amazement 70 

The Garden of Eden 89 

Fatima 108 

The Valley of the Shadow 133 

The Swelling of Jordan 152 



► .. * 



4. 



•p Nevt Yowl 

POOR DEAR MAMMA. 



The wild hawk to the wind-swept sky, 

The deer to the wholesome wold, 
And the heart of a man to the heart of a maid, 

As it was in the days of old. 

Gypsy Song, 

Scene. — Interior of ^li^ Minnie Threegan's 
bedroom at Simla. Miss Threega7i, i^i win- 
dow-seat, turning over a drawerful of chif- 
fons. Miss Emma Deercourt, bosom-friend, 
who has come to spend the day, sitting on 
the bed, manipulating the bodice of a ball- 
room frock and a bunch of artificial lilies 
of the valley. Time 5.30 p.m., on a hot 
May afternoon. 

Miss Deercourt. — And he said : — "I 
shall never forget this dance," and, of course, 
I said : — " Oh ! How can you be so silly ! " 
Do you think he meant anything, dear ? 

9 



lO THE STORY OF THE GADSBVS. 

Miss Threegan. — (^Extracting long lav- 
ender silk stocking from the rubbish?) You 
know him better than / do. 

Miss D. — Oh, do be sympathetic, Minnie ! 
Fm sure he does. At least I would be sure 
if he wasn't always riding with that odious 
Mrs. Hagan. 

Miss T. — I suppose so. How does one 
manage to dance through one's heels first ? 
Look at this — isn't it shameful ? {Spreads 
stocking-heel on open hand for inspection?) 

Miss D. — Never mind that! You can't 
mend it. Help me with this hateful bodice. 
I've run the string so, and I've run the string 
so, and I catCt make the fulness come right. 
Where would you put this? (Waves lilies 
of the valley?) 

Miss T. — As high up on the shoulder as 
possible. 

Miss D. — Am I quite tall enough ? I 
know it makes May Olger look lop-sided. 

Miss T. — Yes, but May hasn't your shoul- 
ders. Hers are like a hock-bottle. 

Bearer. — {Rapping at door?) Captain 
Sahib aya. 



POOR DEAR MAMMA. II 

Miss D. — {^Jumping up wildly, and 
hunting for body, which she has discarded 
owing to the heat of the day.) Captain 
Sahib! What Captain Sahib? Oh, good 
gracious, and I'm only half dressed ! Well, 
I sha'n't bother. 

Miss T. — ( Calmly.) You needn't. It 
isn't for us. That's Captain Gadsby. He is 
going for a ride with Mamma. He gener- 
ally comes five days out of the seven. 

Agonized Voice. — {From an i7i7ier apart- 
ment.) Minnie, run out and give Captain 
Gadsby some tea, and tell him I shall be 
ready in ten minutes ; and, O Minnie, come 
to me an instant, there's a dear girl ! 

Miss T. — O bother! {Aloud.) Very 
well, Mamma. 

Exit, and reappears, after five minutes^ 
flushed, and rubbing her fingers. 

Miss D. — You look pink. What has 
happened ? 

Miss T. — {In a stage whisper?) A 
twenty-four-inch waist, and she won't let it 
out. Where are my bangles ? {Rummages 



12 THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS. 

on the toilet table, and dabs at her hair with 
a brush in the interval?) 

Miss D. — Who is this Captain Gadsby? 
I don't think IVe met him. 

Miss T. — You must have. He belongs 
to the Harrar set. Ive danced with him, 
but I've never talked to him. He's a big 
yellow man, just like a newly hatched chicken, 
with an e-normous mustache. He walks 
like this {imitates Cavalry swagger^, and 
he goes ** Ha — Hmmm ! " deep down in his 
throat when he can't think of anything to 
say. Mamma likes him. I don't. 

Miss D. — {Abstractedly^ Does he wax 
that mustache ? 

Miss T. — {Busy with powder-puff^ 
Yes, I think so. Why ? 

Miss D. — {Bending over the bodice and 
sewing furiously ^ Oh, nothing — only . . . 

Miss T. — {Sternly.) Only what ? Out 
with it, Emma. 

Miss D. — Well, May Olger — she's en- 
gaged to Mr. Charteris, you know — said 
Promise you won't repeat this ? 



• • 



POOR DEAR MAMMA. 1 3 

Miss T. — Yes, I promise. What did she 
say? 

Miss D. — That — that being kissed {with 
a rush) by a man who didn't wax his mus- 
tache was — like eating an egg without salt. 
Miss T. — {At her full height, with crush 
ing scorn.) May Olger is a horrid, nasty 
Thing, and you can tell her I said so. Tm 
glad she doesn't belong to my set ... I 
must go and feed this man! Do I look 
presentable ? 

Miss D. — Yes, perfectly. Be quick and 
hand him over to your Mother, and then we 
can talk, /shall listen at the door to hear 
what you say to him. 

Miss T. — 'Sure I don't care. Vm not 
afraid of Captain Gadsby. 
In proof of this swings into drawing-room 
with a mannish stride followed by two short 
steps, which produces the effect of a restive 
horse entering. Misses Captain Gadsby, 
who is sitting in the shadow of the window- 
curtain, and gazes round helplessly. 
Captain Gadsby. — (Aside.) The filly, 



14 THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS. 

by Jove ! Must ha' picked up that action 
from the sire. (^Aloud, rising.) Good- 
evening, Miss Threegan. 

Miss T. — ( Conscious that she is flushing^ 
Good-evening, Captain Gadsby. Mamma 
told me to say that she will be ready in a 
few minutes. Won't you have some tea? 
{Aside^ I hope Mamma will be quick. 
What am I to say to the creature ? {Aloud 
and abruptly.) Milk and sugar. 

Capt. G. — No sugar, tha-anks, and very 
little milk. Ha-Hmmm. 

Miss T. — {Aside.) If he's going to do 
that, Tm lost. I shall laugh. I know I 
shall ! 

Capt. G. — {Pulling at his mustache and 
watching it sideways down his nose?) Ha- 
Hmmm. {Aside.) 'Wonder what the little 
beast can talk about. 'Must make a shot at it. 

Miss T. — {Aside.) Oh, this is agoniz- 
ing. I must say something. 

Both Together. — Have you been . . . 

Capt. G. — I beg your pardon. You were 
going to say — 



POOR DEAR MAMMA. 1 5 

Miss T. — ( Who has been watching the 
mustache with awed fascination^ Won't 
you have some eggs ? 

Capt. G. — {^Looking bewilderedly at the 
tea-table^ Eggs ! {Aside^ Oh, Hades ! 
She must have a nursery-tea at this hour. 
S*pose they've wiped her mouth and sent 
her to me while the Mother is getting on her 
duds. {Alotid.) No, thanks. 

Miss T. — ( Crimsofi with confusion.^ Oh ! 
I didn't mean that. I wasn't thinking of 
mu — eggs for an instant. I mean salt. 
Won't you have some sa — sweets ? (Aside.) 
He'll think me a raving lunatic. I wish 
Mamma would come. 

Capt. G. — (Aside.) It was a nursery-tea 
and she's ashamed of it. By Jove ! She 
doesn't look half bad when she colors up 
like that. (A loud, help ing h imselffro^n the 
dish?) Have you seen those new chocolates 
at Peliti's ? 

Miss T. — No, I made these myself. What 
are they like ? 

Capt. G. — These ! Z?^-licious. (Aside.) 
And that's a fact. 



l6 THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS, 

Miss T. — (Aside,) Oh, bother ! He'll 
think Tm fishing for compliments. (Aloud.) 
No, Peliti's of course. 

Capt. G. — {Enthusiastically?) Not to 
compare with these. How d'you make them ? 
I can't get my khansamah to understand 
the simplest thing beyond mutton and 
murghi. 

Miss T. — Yes.^ Fm not a khansamah, 
you know. Perhaps you frighten him. You 
should never frighten a servant. He loses 
his head. It's very bad policy. 

Capt. G. — He's so awf ly stupid. 

Miss T. — (Folding her hands in her lap?) 
You should call him quietly and say : — ** O 
khansamah jee ! " 

Capt. G. — (Getting interested?) Yes? 
(Aside?) Fancy that little featherweight 
saying, ** O khansamah jee'' to my blood- 
thirsty Mir Khan ! 

Miss T. — Then you should explain the 
dinner, dish by dish. 

Capt. G, — But I can't speak the vernac- 
ulan 



POOR DEAR MAMMA. 1/ 

Miss T. — (^Patronizingly^ You should 
pass the Higher Standard and try. 

Capt. G. — I have, but I don't seem to be 
any the wiser. Are you ? 

Miss T. — I never passed the Higher 
Standard. But the khansamah is very pa- 
tient with me. He doesn't get angry when I 
talk about sheep's topees, or order maunds of 
grain when I mean seers. 

Capt. G. — (^Aside, zuith intense indigna- 
tion^ I'd like to see Mir Khan being rude 
to that girl ! Hullo ! Steady the Buffs ! 
(^Aloud?) And do you understand about 
horses, too? 

Miss T. — A little — not very much. I 
can't doctor them, but I know what they ought 
to eat, and I am in charge of our stable. 

Capt. G. — Indeed! You might help me 
then. What ought a man to give his sais in 
the Hills ? My ruffian says eight rupees, 
because everything is so dear. 

Miss T. — Six rupees a month, and one 
rupee Simla allowance — neither more nor 
less. And a grass-cut gets six rupees. That's 
better than buying grass in the bazar. 



1 8 THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS. 

Capt. G. — {Admiringly?) How do you 
know ? 

Miss T. — I have tried both ways. 

Capt. G. — Do you ride much, then ? Fve 
never seen you on the Mall ? 

Miss T. — (Aside.) I haven't passed him 
more than fifty times. (Aloud.) Nearly 
every day. 

Capt. G. — By Jove ! I didn't know that. 
Ha-Hmmm ! (Pulls at his mustaches and 
is silent for forty seconds.) 

Miss T. — (Desperately ^ and wondering 
what will happen next?) It looks beautiful. 
I shouldn't touch it if I were you. (Aside.) 
It's all Mamma's fault for not coming before. 
I will be rude ! 

Capt. G. — (Bronzing' under the tan, and 
bringing down his hand very quickly.) Eh ! 
Wha-at ! Oh, yes ! Ha ! Ha ! (Laughs un- 
easily.) (Aside.) Well, of all the dashed 
cheek ! I never had a woman say that to me 
yet. She must be a cool hand or else . . . 
Ah ! that nursery tea ! 

Voice from the Unknown. — Tchk ! Tchk ! 
Tchkl 



POOR DEAR MAMMA. 19 

Capt. G. — Good gracious ! What's that ? 

Miss T. — The dog, I think. (Aside.) 
Emma Aas been listening, and FII never for- 
give her ! 

Capt. G. — (Aside.) They don't keep 
dogs here. (Aloud.) 'Didn't sound like a 
dog, did it? 

Miss T. — Then it must have been the cat. 
Let's go into the veranda. What a lovely 
evening it is ! 

Steps into veranda and looks out across 
the hills into sunset. The Captain fol- 
lows. 

Capt. G. — (Aside.) Superb eyes ! I 
wonder that I never noticed them before ! 
(Aloud.) There's going to be a dance at 
Viceregal Lodge on Wednesday. Can you 
spare me one ? 

Miss T. — (Shortly.) No ! I don't want 
any of your charity-dances. You only ask 
me because Mamma told you to. I hop and 
I bump. You know I do ! 

Capt. G. — (Aside.) That's true, but little 
girls shouldn't understand these things. 



20 THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS. 

{Aloud,) No, on my word, I don*t. You 
dance beautifully. 

Miss T. — Then why do you always stand 
out after half a dozen turns ? I thought offi- 
cers in the Army didn^t tell fibs. 

Capt. G. — It wasn't a fib, believe me. I 
really do want the pleasure of a dance with 
you. 

Miss T. — {Wickedly.) Why? Won't 
Mamma dance with you any more ? 

Capt. G. — {More ear7iestly than the neces- 
sity demafids,) I wasn't thinking of your 
Mother. {Aside?) You little vixen ! 

Miss T. — {Still loohi^ig out of the ivin- 
dow,) Eh ? Oh, I beg your pardon. I was 
thinking of something else. 

Capt. G. — {Aside.) Well ! I wonder 
what she'll say next. I've never known a 
woman treat me like this before. I might be 
— Dash it, I might be an Infantry subaltern ! 
{Aloud,) Oh, please don't trouble. I'm not 
worth thinking about. Isn't your Mother 
ready yet ? 

Miss T. — I should think so ; but promise 



POOR DEAR MAMMA. 21 

me, Captain Gadsby, you won't take poor 
dear Mamma twice round Jakko any more. 
It tires her so. 

Capt. G. She says that no exercise tires her. 

Miss T. — Yes, but she suffers afterwards. 
You don't know what rheumatism is, and you 
oughtn't to keep her out so late, when it gets 
chilly in the evenings. 

Capt. G. — {Aside?) Rheumatism ! I 
thought she came off her horse rather in a 
bunch. Whew ! One lives and learns. 
{Aloud ^ I'm sorry to hear that. She 
hasn't mentioned it to me. 

Miss T. {Flurried?) Of course not ! Poor 
dear Mamma never would. And you mustn't 
say that I told you either. Promise mc that 
you won't. Oh, Captain Gadsby, -promise mc 
you won't ! 

Caff. G. — I am dumb, or — I shall be as 
soon as you've given me that dance, and an- 
other . . . if you can trouble yourself to think 
about me for a minute. 

MivSS T. — But you won't like It one little 
bit. You'll be awfully sorry afterwards. 



22 THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS. 

Capt. G. — I shall like it above all things, 
and I shall only be sorry that I didn't get 
more. (Aside.) Now what in the world am 
I saying ? 

Miss T. — Very well. You will have only 
yourself to thank if your toes are trodden on. 
Shall we say Seven ? 

Capt. G. — And Eleven. (Aside). She 
can't be more than eight stone, but, even then, 
it's an absurdly small foot. (Looks at his 
own riding boots.) 

Miss T. — They're beautifully shiny. I can 
almost see my face in them. 

Capt. G. — I was thinking whether I should 
have to go on crutches for the rest of my lifs. 
if you trod on my toes. 

Miss T. — Very likely. Why not change 
Eleven for a square ? 

Capt. G. — No, please ! I want them botl 
waltzes. Won't you write them down ? 

Miss T. — / don't get so many dances tha* 
I shall confuse them. You will be the of- 
fender. 

Capt. G. — Wait and see ! (Aside.) She 
doesn't dance perfectly, perhaps, but . . . 



POOR DEAR MAMMA. 23 

Miss T. — Your tea must have got cold by 
this time. Won't you have another cup ? 

Capt. G. — No, thanks. Don't you think 
it's pleasanter out in the veranda? (Aside.) 
I never saw hair take that color in the sun- 
shine before. (Aloud.) It's like one of Dick- 
see's pictures. 

Miss T. — Yes! It's a wonderful sunset, 
isn't it ? (Bluntly.) But what do you know 
about Dicksee's pictures ? 

Capt. G. — I go Home occasionally. And 
I used to know the Galleries. (Nervously.) 
You mustn't think me only a Philistine with 
... a mustache. 

Miss T. — Don't ! Please don't ! I'm so 
sorry for what I said then. I was horribly 
rude. It slipped out before I thought. Don't 
you know the temptation to say frightful and 
shocking things just for the mere sake of 
saying them ? I'm afraid I gave way to it. 

Capt. G. — ( Watching the girl as she 
flushes^ I think I know the feeling. It 
would be terrible if we all yielded to it, 
wouldn't it ? For instance, I might say . . . 



\ 



24 THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS. 

Poor dear Mamma. — {Enterhig, habited, 
hatted, and booted.) Ah, Captain Gadsby ! 
'Sorry to keep you waiting. 'Hope you haven't 
been bored. 'My little gid been talking to 
you? 

Miss T. — (^Aszde.) I'm not sorry I spoke 
about the rheumatism. I'm not ! Fm not ! 
I only wish Td mentioned the corns too. 

Capt. G. — (Aside.) What a shame ! I 
wonder how old she is. It never occurred to 
me before. (^Aloud.) We've been discuss- 
ing '' Shakespeare and the musical glasses " 
in the veranda. 

Miss T. — (^Aside.) Nice man ! He knows 
that quotation. He isnt a Philistine with 
a mustache. (^Aloud.) Good-by, Captaiin 
Gadsby. (^ A side.) What a huge haad and 
what a squeeze ! I don't suppose he meant 
it, but he has driven the rings into my fingers. 

Poor dear Mamma. — Has Vermilion come 
round yet ? Oh, yes ! Captain Gadsby, don't 
you think that the saddle is too far forward ? 
{They^ass into the front veranda^ 

Capt, G. — {Aside?) How the dickens 



POOR DEAR MAMMA. 2$ 

should I know what she prefers ? She told 
me that she doted on horses. (^Aloud,) I 
think it is. 

Miss T. — ( Coming out into front veran- 
da,^ Oh ! Bad Buldoo ! I must speak to 
him for this. He has taken up the curb two 
links, and Vermilion hates that. (^Passes out 
and to horse's head?) 

Capt. G. — Let me do it ! 

Miss T. — No, Vermilion understands me. 
Don't you, old man ? (^Looses curb -chain 
skilfully, and pats horse on nose and throttle.) 
Poor Vermilion ! Did they want to cut his 
chin off? There ! 

Captain Gadsby watches the ijiterlude with 
undisguised adntiration. 

Poor dear Mamma. — (^Tartly to Miss T.) 
You Ve forgotten your guest, I think, dear. 

Miss T. — Good gracious ! So I have ! 
Good-by. (^Retreats indoors hastily.) 

Poor dear Mamma. — (^Bunchiftg reins in 
fingers hampered by too tight gauntlets.) 
Captain Gadsby ! 

Capt. Gadsby stoops and makes the foot-rest. 



26 THE STORY OF THE GADSBVS. 

Poor dear Mamma blunderSy halts too long, 
and breaks through it. 

Captain G. — (Aside.) Can't hold up 
eleven stone forever. It's all your rheuma- 
tism. {Aloud,) Can't imagine why I was 
so clumsy. (Aside,) Now Little Feather- 
weight would have gone up like a bird. 

They ride out of the garden. The Captain 
falls back, 

Capt. G. — (Aside ^ How that habit 
catches her under the arms ! Ugh ! 

Poor dear Mamma. — ( With the worn 
smile of sixteen seasons, the worse for ex- 
change,) You're dull this afternoon, Cap- 
tain Gadsby. 

Capt. G. — (Spurring up wearily^ Why 
did you keep me waiting so long ? 

Et ccBtera, et ccetera, et ccetera. 

(an interval of three weeks.) 

Gilded Youth. — (Sitting on railings op- 
posite Town Hall,) Hullo, Gaddy ! 'Been 
trotting out the Gorgonzola ? We all thought 
it was the Gorgon you're mashing. 



POOR DEAR MAMMA. 27 

Capt. G. — ( With withering emphasis?) 
You young cub ! What the does it mat- 
ter to you ? 

Proceeds to read Gilded Youth a lecture 
on discretion and deportment, which crumples 
latter like a Chinese Lantern, Departs fum- 
ing. 

(further interval of five weeks.) 

Scene. — Exterior of New Library on a 
foggy evening. Miss Threegan a7id Miss 
Deercourt meet among the 'rickshaws. Miss 
T. is carrying a bundle of books under her 
left arm. 

Miss D. — {Level intonation?) Well ? 

Miss T. — {Ascending intonation?) Well ? 

Miss D. — ( Capturing her friend 's left 
army taking away all the books y placing books 
in ' rickshaw y returning to arm, securing hand 
by the third finger and investigating?) Well ! 
You bad girl ! And you never told me. 

Miss T. — {Demurely?) He — he — he 
only spoke yesterday afternoon. 

Miss D. — Bless you, dear! And Tm to 



28 THE STORY OF THE GADSBVS. 

be bridesmaid, aren't I ? You know you 
promised ever so long ago. 

Miss T. — Of course. Til tell you all 
about it to-morrow. (^Gets mto ' rickshaw,) 
Oh, Emma ! 

Miss D. — ( With intense interest.) Yes, 
dear? 

Miss T. — (^Piano.) It's quite true . . . 
about . . . the . . . ^gg. 

Miss D. — What egg ? 

Miss T. — (^Pianissimo prestissimo.) The 
egg without the salt. {^Forte.) Chalo ghar 
ko jaldiy jhampani ! 

CURTAIN. 



THE WORLD WITHOUT. 



" Certain people of importance.** 

Scene. — Smoking-room of the Degchi Club. 
Time 10.30 vm. of a stuffy night in the 
Rains. Four men dispersed in picttcresque 
attitudes and easy-chairs. To these e^itcr 
Blayne of the Irregular Moguls y in evening 
dress. 

Blayne. — Phew ! The Judge ought to be 
hanged in his own store-godown. Hi, khit- 
matgar ! Poora whiskey-peg, to take the 
taste out of my mouth. 

CuRTiss — {Royal Artillery^ That's it, 
is it ? What the deuce made you dine at the 
Judge's ? You know his bandobust. 

Blayne. — Thought it couldn't be worse 

than the Club ; but I'll swear he buys ullaged 

qliuor and doctors it with gin and ink {look- 

29 



30 THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS. 

ing round the room?) Is this all of you 
to-night ? 

DooNE. — {P. W. D.) Anthony was 
called out at dinner. Mingle had a pain in 
his tummy. 

CuRTiss. — Miggy dies of cholera once a 
week in the Rains, and gets drunk on chloro- 
dyne in between. 'Good little chap, though. 
Any one at the Judge's, Blayne ? 

Blayne. — Cockley and his memsahib 
looking awfully white and fagged. 'Female 
girl — couldn't catch the name — on her way 
to the Hills, under the Cockleys' charge — 
the Judge, and Markyn fresh from Simla — 
disgustingly fit. 

CuRTiss. — Good Lord, how truly magnifi- 
cent! Was there enough ice? When I 
mangled garbage there I got one whole 
lump — nearly as big as a walnut. What 
had Markyn to say for himself? 

Blayne. — 'Seems that every one is having 
a fairly good time up there in spite of the 
rain. By Jove, that reminds me ! I know I 
hadn't come across just for the pleasure of 



THE WORLD WITHOUT. 3 1 

your society. News ! Great news ! Mar- 
kyn told me. 

DooNE. — Who's dead now ? 

Blayne. — No one that I know of; but 
Gaddy's hooked at last ! 

Dropping Chorus. — How much ? The 
Devil ! Markyn was pulling your leg. Not 
Gaddy ! 

Blayne. — ** Yea, verily, verily, verily ! 
Verily, verily, I say unto thee." Theodore, 
the gift o' God ! Our Phillup ! It's been 
given out up above. 

Mackesy. — {Barrister -at' Law?) Huh ! 
Women will give out anything. What does 
accused say ? 

Blayne. — Markyn told me that he con- 
gratulated him warily — one hand held out, 
t'other ready to guard. Gaddy turned pink 
and said it was so. 

CuRTiss. — Poor old Gaddy ! They all do 
it. Who's she ? Let's hear the details. 

Blayne. — She's a girl — daughter of a 
Colonel Somebody. 

Doone. — Simla's stiff with Colonels' 
daughters. Be more explicit. 



32 THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS. 

Blayne. — Wait a shake. What was her 
name ? Three — something. Three — 

CuRTiss. — Stars, perhaps. Gaddy knows 
that brand. 

Blayne. — Threegan — Minnie Threegan. 

Mackesy. — Threegan ! Isn't she a little 
bit of a girl with red hair ? 

Blayne. — 'Bout that — from what Mar- 
kyn said. 

Mackesy. — Then IVe met her. She was 
at Lucknow last season. 'Owned a perma- 
nently juvenile Mamma, and danced dam- 
nably. I say, Jervoise, you knew the Three- 
gans, didn't you ? 

Jervoise. — ( Civilian of twenty-five years 
service^ waking up from his doze,) Eh ! 
What's that? Knew who? How? I 
thought \ was at Home, confound you ! 

Mackesy. — The Threegan girl's engaged, 
so Blayne says. 

Jervoise. — (^Slowly.) Engaged — en- 
gaged ! Bless my soul ! I'm getting an old 
man ! Little Minnie Threegan engaged ! It 
was only the other day I went home with 



THE WORLD WITHOUT. 33 

them in the Sural — no, the Massilia — and 
she was crawling about on her hands and 
knees among the ayahs. 'Used to call me 
the ** Tick Tack Sahib " because I showed 
her my watch. And that was in Sixty-Seven 
— no, Seventy. Good God, how time flies ! 
Fm an old man. I remember when Threegan 
married Miss Derwent — daughter of old 
Hoo.ky Derwent — but that was before your 
time. And so the little baby's engaged to 
have a little baby of her own ! Who's the 
other fool ? 

Mackesy. — Gadsby of the Pink Hussars. 

Jervoise. — 'Never met him. Threegan 
lived in debt, married in debt, and '11 die in 
debt. 'Must be glad to get the girl off his 
hands. 

Blayne. — Gaddy has money — lucky 
devil. Place at Home, too. 

DooNE. — He comes of first-class stock. 
'Can't quite understand his being caught by 
a Colonel's daughter, and {looking cautiously 
round room) Black Infantry at that ! No 
offence to you, Blayne. 



34 THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS. 

Blayne {stiffly) — Not much, tha-anks. 

CuRTiss — {quoting motto of Irregular 
Moguls?) — ** We are what we are/* eh, old 
man ? But Gaddy was such a superior ani- 
mal as a rule. Why didn't he go Home and 
pick his wife there ? - 

Mackesy. — They are all alike when they 
come to the turn into the straight. About 
thirty a man begins to get sick of living 
alone — 

CuRTiss. — And of the eternal muttony- 
chap in the morning. 

DooNE. — It's dead goat as a rule, but go 
on, Mackesy. 

Mackesy. — If a man's once taken that 
way nothing will hold him. Do you remem- 
ber Benoit of your service, Doone ? They 
transferred him to Tharanda when his time 
came, and he married a plate-layer's daughter, 
or something of that kind. She was the 
only female about the place. 

Doone. — Yes, poor brute. That smashed 
Benoit's chances altogether. Mrs. Benoit 
used to ask : — " Was you goin' to the dance 
this evenin' ? " 



THE WORLD WITHOUT, 35 

CuRTiss. — Hang it all ! Gaddy hasn't 
married beneath him. There's no tar-brush 
in the family, I suppose. 

Jervoise. — Tar-brush ! Not an anna. 
You young fellows talk as though the man 
was doing the girl an honor in marrying her. 
You're all too conceited — nothing s good 
enough for you. 

Blayne. — Not even an empty Club, a 
dam' bad dinner at the Judge's, and a Sta- 
tion as sickly as a hospital. You're quite 
right. We're a set of Sybarites. 

DooNE. — Luxurious dogs, wallowing in — 

CuRTiss. — Prickly heat between the 
shoulders. I'm covered with it. Let's hope 
Beora will be cooler. 

Blayne. — Whew ! Are you ordered into 
camp, too? I thought the Gunners had a 
clean sheet. 

CuRTiss. — No, worse luck. Two cases 
yesterday — one died — and if we have a 
third, out we go. Is there any shooting at 
Beora, Doone ? 

DooNE. — The country's under water, ex- 



36 THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS. 

cept the patch by the Grand Trunk Road. 1 
was there yesterday, looking at a bundy and 
^ame across four poor devils in their last 
stage. It's rather bad from here to Kuchara. 

CuRTiss. — Then we're pretty certain to 
have a heavy go of it. Heigho ! I shouldn't 
mind changing places with Gaddy for a while. 
'Sport with Amaryllis in the shade of the 
Town Hall, and all that. Oh, why doesn't 
somebody come and marry me, instead of let- 
ting me go into cholera camp ? 

Mackesy {^pointing to notice forbidding 
dogs in the Club.) — Ask the Committee. 

CuRTiss. — You irreclaimable ruffian ! 
You'll stand me another peg for that. Blayne, 
what will you take? Mackesy is fined on 
moral grounds. Doone, have you any pref- 
erence ? 

Doone. — Small glass Kiimmel, please. 
Excellent carminative, these days. Anthony 
told me so. 

Mackesy {signing voucher for four 
drinks?) — Most unfair punishment. I only 
thought of Curtiss as Actaeon being chivied 



THE WORLD WITHOUT. 37 

round the billiard tables by the nymphs of 
Diana. 

Blayne. — Curtiss would have to import 
his nymphs by train. Mrs. Cockley's the 
only woman in the Station. She won't leave 
Cockley, and he's doing his best to get her 
to go. 

Curtiss. — Good, indeed ! Here's Mrs. 

Cockley's health. To the only wife in the 

Station and a damned brave woman ! 

Omnes {drinking?) — A damned brave 
woman ! 

Blayne. — I suppose Gaddy will bring his 
wife here at the end of the cold weather. 
They are going to be married almost immedi- 
ately, I believe. 

Curtiss. — Gaddy may thank his luck that 
the Pink Hussars are all detachment and no 
headquarters this hot weather, or he'd be 
torn from the arms of his love as sure as 
death. Have you ever noticed the thorough- 
minded way British Cavalry take to cholera ? 
It's because they are so expensive. If the 
Pinks had stood fast here, they would have 



38 THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS, 

been out in camp a month ago. Yes, I should 
decidedly like to be Gaddy. 

Mackesy. — He'll go Home after he's mar- 
ried, and send in his papers — see if he 
doesn't. 

Blayne. — Why shouldn't he ? Hasn't he 
money ? Would any one of us be here if 
we weren't paupers ? 

DooNE. — Poor old pauper ! What has 
become of the six hundred you rooked from 
our table last month ? 

Blayne. — It took unto itself wings. I 
think an enterprising tradesman got some of 
it, and a shroff gobbled the rest — or else I 
spent it. 

CuRTiss. — Gaddy never had dealings with 
a shroff in his life. 

DooNE. — Virtuous Gaddy ! If / had three 
thousand a month, paid from England, I don't 
think I'd deal with a shroff €\\ki^x. 

Mackesy {yawning). — Oh, it's a sweet 
life ! I wonder whether matrimony would 
make it sweeter. 

CuRTiss. — Ask Cockley — with his wife 
dying by inches ! 






THE WORLD WITHOUT. 39 

Blayne. — Go home and get a fool of a 
girl to come out to — what . is it Thackeray 
says? — ** the splendid palace of an Indian 
pro-consul." 

DooNE. — Which reminds me. My quar- 
ters leak like a sieve. I had fever last night 
from sleeping in a swamp. And the worst of 
' it is, one can't do anything to a roof till the 
Rains are over. 

CuRTiss. — What's wrong with you ? You 
haven't eighty rotting Tommies to take into a 
running stream. 

DooNE. — No : but I'm a compost of boils 
and bad language. I'm a regular Job all over 
my body. It's sheer poverty of blood, and I 
don't see any chance of getting richer — 
either way. 

Blayne. — Can't you take leave ? 

DooNE. — That's the pull you Army men 
have over us. Ten days are nothing in your 
sight, rm so important that Government 
can't find a substitute if I go away. Ye-es, 
I'd like to be Gaddy, whoever his wife may 
be. 



40 THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS. 

CuRTiss. — YouVe passed the turn of life 
that Mackesy was speaking of. 

DooNE. — Indeed I have, but I never yet 
had the brutality to ask a woman to share my 
life out here. 

Blayne. — On my soul I believe youVe 
right. Fm thinking of Mrs. Cockley. The 
woman's an absolute wreck. 

DooNE. — Exactly. Because she stays 
down here. The only way to keep her fit 
would be to send her to the Hills for eight 
months — and the same with any woman. I 
fancy I see myself taking a wife on those 
terms. 

Mackesy. — With the rupee at one and six- 
pence. The little Doones would be little 
Dehra Doones, with a fine Mussoorie chi-chi 
to bring home for the holidays. 

CuRTiss. — And a pair of be-ewtiful sam- 
dAur-horns for Doone to wear, free of ex- 
pense, presented by — 

Doone. — Yes, it's an enchanting prospect. 
By the way, the rupee hasn't done falling 
yet. The time will come when we shall 



THE WORLD WITHOUT. 4 1 

think ourselves lucky if we only lose half our 
pay. 

CuRTiss. — Surely a third's loss enough. 
Who gains by the arrangement ? That's what 
I want to know. 

Blayne. — The Silver Question ! I'm going 
to bed if you begin squabbling. Thank Good- 
ness, here's Anthony — looking like a ghost. 

Enter Anthony, Indian Medical Staffs very 
white and tired. 

Anthony. — 'Evening, Blayne. It's rain- 
ing in sheets. Peg lao, khitmatgar. The 
roads are something ghastly. 

CuRTiss. — How's Mingle ? 

Anthony. Very bad, and more frightened. 
I handed him over to Fewton. Mingle might 
just as well have called him in the first place, 
instead of bothering me. 

Blayne. — He's a nervous little chap. 
What has he got, this time ? 

Anthony. — 'Can't quite say. A very bad 
tummy and a blue funk so far. He asked me 
at once if it was cholera, and I told him not 
to be a fool. That soothed him. 



42 THE STORY OF THE GADSBVS. 

CuRTiss. — Poor devil ! The funk does 
half the business in a man of that build. 

Anthony {lighting a cheroot) . — I firmly 
believe the funk will kill him if he stays down. 
You know the amount of trouble he's been 
giving Fewton for the last three weeks. He's 
doing his very best to frighten himself into 
the grave. 

General Chorus. — Poor little devil ! 
Why doesn't he get away ? 

Anthony. — 'Can't. He has his leave all 
right, but he's so dipped he can't take it, and 
I don't think his name on paper would raise 
four annas. TIjat's in confidence, though. 

Mackesy. — All the Station knows it. 

Anthony. — ** I suppose I shall have to 
die here," he said, squirming all across the 
bed. He's quite made up his mind to King- 
dom Come. And I know he has nothing 
more than a wet-weather tummy if he could 
only keep a hand on himself. 

Blayne. — That's bad. That's very bad. 
Poor little Miggy. Good little chap, too. I 
say— 



THE WORLD WITHOUT. 43 

Anthony. — What do you say ? 

Blayne. — Well, look here — anyhow. If 
it's like that — as you say — I say fifty. 

CuRTiss. — I say fifty. 

Mackesy. — I go twenty better. 

Doone. — Bloated Croesus of the Bar ! I 
say fifty. Jervoise, what do you say ? Hi ! 
Wake up ! **• ' 

Jervoise. — Eh! What's that? What's 
that? 

CuRTiss. — We want a hundred dibs from 
you. You're a bachelor drawing a gigantic 
income, and there's a man in a hole. 

Jervoise. — What man ? ^ny one dead ? 

Blayne. — No, but he'll die if you don't 
give the hundred. Here! Here's a peg- 
voucher. You can see what we've signed for, 
and a chaprassi will come round to-morrow 
to collect it. So there will be no trouble. 

Jervoise {signing). — One hundred, E. 
M. J. There you are {feebly). It isn't one 
of your jokes, is it ? 

Blayne. — No, it really is wanted. An- 
thony, you were the biggest poker-winner 



44 THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS. 

last week, and youVe defrauded the tax-col- 
lector too long. Sign ! 

Anthony. — Let's see. Three fifties and 
a seventy — two twenty — three twenty — say 
four twenty. That'll give him a month clear 
at the Hills. Many thanks, you men. Fll 
send round the chaprassi to-morrow. 

iiyj^Tiss. — You must engineer his taking 
the stuff, and of course you mustn't — 

Anthony. — Of course. It would never 
do. He'd weep with gratitude over his even- 
ing drink. 

Blayne. — That's just what he would do, 
damn him. Oh ! I say, Anthony, you pre- 
tend to know everything. Have you heard 
about Gaddy ? 

Anthony. — No. Divorce Court at last ? 

Blayne. — Worse. He's engaged. 

Anthony. — How much ? He cant be ! 

Blayne. — He is. He's going to be mar- 
ried in a few weeks. Markyn told me at the 
Judge's this evening. It's pukka. 

Anthony. — You don't say so? Holy 
Moses ! There'll be a shine in the tents of 
Kedar. 



THE WORLD WITHOUT. • 45 

CuRTiss. — 'Regiment cut up rough, think 
you? 

Anthony. — 'Don't know anything about 
the Regiment. 

Mackesy. — It is bigamy, then ? 

Anthony. — Maybe. Do you mean to say 
that you men have forgotten, or is there 
more charity in the world than I thought ? 

DooNE. — You don't look pretty when you 
are trying to keep a secret. You bloat. 
Explain. 

Anthony. — Mrs. Herriott ! 

Blayne {after a long pause, to the room 
generally). — It's my notion that we are a set 
of fools. 

Mackesy. — Nonsense. That business was 
knocked on the head last season. Why, 
young Mallard — 

Anthony. — Mallard was a candle-stick, 
paraded as such. Think a while. Recollect 
last season and the talk then. Mallard or no 
Mallard, did Gaddy ever talk to any other 
woman ? 

CuRTiss. — There's something in that. It 



46 THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS. 

was slightly noticeable now you come to men- 
tion it. But she's at Naini Tal and he's at 
Simla. 

Anthony. — He had to go to Simla to look 
after a globe-trotter relative of his — a per- 
son with a title. Uncle or aunt. 

Blayne. — And there he got engaged. 
No law prevents a man growing tired of a 
woman. 

Anthony. — Except that he mustn't do it 
till the woman is tired of him. And the 
Herriott woman was not that. 

CuRTiss. — She may be now. Two months 
of Naini Tal work wonders. 

DooNE. — Curious thing how some women 
carry a Fate with them. There was a Mrs. 
Deegie in the Central Provinces whose men 
invariably fell away and got married. It be- 
came a regular proverb with us when I was 
down there. I remember three men desper- 
ately devoted to her, and they all, one after 
another, took wives. 

CuRTiss. — That's odd. Now I should 
have thought that Mrs. Deegie's influence 



THE WORLD WITHOUT. 47 

would have led them to take other men's 
wives. It ought to have made them afraid of 
the judgment of Providence. 

Anthony. — Mrs. Herriott will make Gaddy 
afraid of something more than the judgment 
of Providence, I fancy. 

Blayne. — Supposing things are as you 
say, he'll be a fool to face her. He'll sit 
tight at Simla. 

Anthony. — 'Shouldn't be a bit surprised 
if he went off to Naini to explain. He's an 
unaccountable sort of man, and she's likely 
to be a more than unaccountable woman. 

DooNE. — What makes you take her char- 
acter away so confidently ? 

Anthony. — Primum tempus. Gaddy was 
her first, and a woman doesn't allow her first 
man to drop away without expostulation. She 
justifies the first transfer of affection to her- 
self by swearing that it is forever and ever. 
Consequently . . . 

Blayne. — Consequently, we are sitting 
here till past one o'clock, talking scandal like 
a set of Station cats. Anthony, it's all your 



48 THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS. 

fault. We were perfectly respectable till you 
came in. Go to bed. I'm off. Good-night 
all. 

CuRTiss. — Past one ! It's past two, by 
Jove, and here's the khtt coming for the late 
charge. Just Heavens ! One, two, three, 
four, ^ve rupees to pay for the pleasure of 
saying that a poor little beast of a woman is 
no better than she should be. I'm ashamed 
of myself. Go to bed, you slanderous villains, 
and if I'm sent to Beora to-morrow, be pre- 
pared to hear I'm dead before paying my 
card-account ! 

CURTAIN. 



THE TENTS OF KEDAR. 



Only why should it be with pain at all. 
Why must I 'twixt the leaves of coronal 

Put any kiss of pardon on thy brow ? 
Why should the other women know so much. 
And talk together : — Such the look and such 

The smile he used to love with, then as now. 

Any Wife to any Husband, 

Scene. — A Naini Tal dinner for thirty-fotiy. 
Plate, wines, crockery, and khitmatgats 
carefully calculated to scale of Rs. 6^000 per 
mensem, less Exchange. Table split length- 
ways by bank of flowers, 

Mrs. Herriott. — {After conversation has 
risen to proper pitch^ Ah! 'Didn't see you 
in the crush in the drawing-room. {Sotto 
voce?) Where have you been all this while, 
Pip? 

Captain Gadsby. — ( Turning from regu- 

49 



so THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS. 

larly ordained dinner partner and settling 
hock glasses.') Good-evening. ( Sotto voce.) 
Not quite so loud another time. YouVe no 
notion how vour voic^ carries. (^Aside.) So 
much for shirking the written explanation. 
It'll have to be a verbal one now. Sweet 
prospect ! How on earth am I to tell her that 
I am a respectable, engaged member of so- 
ciety and it's all over between us ? 

Mrs H. — IVe a heavy score against you. 
Where were you at the Monday Pop ? Where 
were you on Tuesday ? Where were you at 
the Lamonts' tennis ? I was looking every- 
where. 

Capt. G. — For me ! Oh, I was alive 
somewhere, I suppose. {Aside.) It's for 
Minnie's sake, but it's going to be dashed 
unpleasant. 

Mrs. H. — Have I done anything to offend 
you ? I never meant it if I have. I couldn't 
help going for a ride with the Vaynor man. 
It was promised a week before you came up. 

Capt. G. — I didn't know — 

Mrs. H. — It really was. 



THE TENTS OF KEDAR. 5 1 

Capt. G. — Anything about it, I mean. 
Mrs. H. — What has upset you to-day? 
All these days ? You haven't been near me 

for four whole days -^nearly one hundred 

* 

hours. Was it kind of you, Pip ? And Tve 
been looking forward so much to your coming. 

Capt. G. — Have you ? 

Mrs. H. — You know I have ! IVe been 
as foolish as a schoolgirl about it. I made a 
little calendar and put it in my card-case, and 
every time the twelve o'clock gun went off I 
scratched out a square and said; — *' That 
brings me nearer to Pip. My Pip ! " 

Capt. G. — ( With an uneasy laugh ^ 
What will Mackler think if you neglect him 
so ? 

Mrs. H. — And it hasn't brought you 
nearer. You seem farther away than ever. 
Are you sulking about something ? I know 
your temper. 

Capt. G.^— No. 

Mrs. H. — Have I grown old in the last 
few months, then ? (^Reaches forward to bank 
of flowers for menu-card^ 



5 t THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS. 

Partner on Left. — Allow me. {^Hands 
menu-card, Mrs. H. keeps her arm at full 
stretch for three seconds?) 

Mrs. H. — (^To partner?) Oh, thanks. I 
didn't see. {Turns right again?) Is any- 
thing in me changed at all ? 

Capt. G. — For Goodness' sake go on with 
your dinner ! You must eat something. Try 
one of those cutlet arrangements. (Aside.) 
And I fancied she had good shoulders, once 
upon a time ! What an ass a man can make 
of himself! 

Mrs. H. — {Helpiug herself to a paper 
frilU seven peas, some stamped carrots and a 
spoonful of gravy?) That isn't an answer. 
Tell we whether I have done anything. 

Capt. G. — {Aside?) If it isn't ended 
here there will be a ghastly scene somewhere 
else. If only I'd written to her and stood 
the racket — at long range ! ( To khitmat- 
gar?) Han ! Simpkin do, {Aloud?) I'll 
tell you later on. 

Mrs. H. — Tell me now. It must be some 
foolish misunderstanding, and you know that 



THE TENTS OF KEDAR. Si 

there was to be nothing of that sort between 
us ! We, of all people in the world, can't 
afford it. Is it the Vaynor man, and don't 
you like to say so ? On my honor — 

Capt. G. — I haven't given the Vaynor man 
a thought. 

Mrs. H. — But how dyou know that / 
haven't ? 

Capt. G. — (Aside.) Here's my chance 
and may the Devil help me through with it. 
(Aloud and measuredly.) Believe me, I do 
not care how often or how tenderly you think 
of the Vaynor man. 

Mrs. H. — I wonder if you mean that. — 
Oh, what is the good of squabbling and pre- 
tending to misunderstand when you are only 
up for so short a time ? Pip, don't be a 
stupid ! 

Follows a pause, during which he crosses 
his left leg over his right and continues his 
dinner, 

Capt. G. — (In answer to the thunderstorm 
in her eyes.) Corns — my worst. 

Mrs. H. — Upon my word, you are the 



S4 THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS. 

very rudest man in the world ! Til never do 
it again. 

Capt. G. — (Aside,) No, I don't think 
you will ; but I wonder what you will do be- 
fore it*s all over. ( To khitmatgar^ Thorah 
our Simpkin do, 

Mrs. H. — Well ! Haven't you the grace 
to apologize, bad man ? 

Capt. G. — (Aside?) I mustn't let it drift 
back now. Trust a woman for being as blind 
as a bat when she won't see. 

Mrs. H. — I'm waiting : or would you like 
me to dictate a form of apology ? 

Capt. G. — (Desperately?) By all means 
dictate. 

Mrs. H. — (Lightly?) Very well. Re- 
hearse your several Christian names after me 
and goon: — *' Profess my sincere repent- 
ance." 

Capt. G. — ** Sincere repentance." 

Mrs. H. — ** For having behaved — " 

Capt. G. — (Aside?) At last ! I wish to 
Goodness she'd look away. ** For having be- 
haved " — as I have behaved, and declare 



THE TENTS OF KEDAR. 55 

that I am thoroughly and heartily sick of the 
whole business, and take this opportunity of 
making clear my intention of ending it, now, 
henceforward, and forever. (Aside.) If any 
one had told me I should be such a black- 
guard . . . ! 

Mrs. H. — {Shaking a spoonful of potato- 
chips into her plate?) That*s not a pretty 
joke. 

Capt. G. — No. It's a reality. {Aside.) 
I wonder if smashes of this kind are always 
so raw. 

Mrs. H. — Really, Pip, youVe getting more 
absurd every day. 

Capt. G. — I don't think you quite under- 
stand me. Shall I repeat it ? 

Mrs. H. — No ! For pity's sake don't do 
that. It's too terrible, even in fun. 

Capt. G. — {Aside?) I'll let her think it 
over for a while. But I ought to be horse- 
whipped. 

Mrs. H. — I want to know what you meant 
by what you said just now. 

Capt. G. — Exactly what I said. No less. 



56 THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS. 

Mrs. H. — But what have I done to de- 
serve it ? What have I done ? 

Capt. G. — {Aside.) If she only wouldn't 
look at me. {Aloud and very slowly, his eyes 
on his plate.) Dyou remember that even- 
ing in July, before the Rains broke, when 
you said that the end would have to come 
sooner or later . . . and you wondered for 
which of us it would come first ? 

Mrs. H. — Yes! I was only joking. 
And you swore that, as long as there was 
breath in your body, it should never come. 
And I believed you. 

Capt. G. — {Fingering menu - card.) 
Well, it has. That's all. 

A long pause, during which Mrs. H. bows 
her head and rolls the bread-twist into little 
pellets : G. stares at the oleanders. 

Mrs. H. — ( Throwing back her head and 
laughing naturally.) They train us women 
well, don't they, Pip ? 

Capt. G. — {Brutally, touching shirt-stud.) 
So far as the expression goes. {Aside.) It 
isn't in her nature to take things quietly. 
There'll be an explosion yet. 



THE TENTS OF KEDAR. 57 

Mrs. H. — (^With a shudder^ Thank 
you. B-but ,red Indians allow people to 
wriggle when they're being tortured, I be- 
lieve. {Slips fan from girdle and fans 
slowly : rim of fan level with chin?) 

Partner on Left. — Very close to-night, 
isn't it ? You find it too much for you ? 

Mrs. H. — Oh, no, not in the least. But 
they really ought to have punkahs, even in 
your cool Naini Tal, oughtn't they ? {Turns y 
dropping fan and raising eyebrows^ 

Capt. G. — It's all right. {Aside ^ Here 
comes the storm ! 

Mrs. H. — {Her eyes on the tablecloth : 
fan ready in right hand,^ It was very 
cleverly managed, Pip, and I congratulate 
you. You swore — you never contented 
yourself with merely saying a thing — you 
swore that, as far as lay in your power, you'd 
make my wretched life pleasant for me. And 
you've denied me the consolation of break- 
ing down. I should have done it — indeed 
I should. A woman would hardly have 
thought of this refinement, my kind, consid- 

4 



58 THE STORY OF THE GADSBVS. 

erate friend. (^Fan-guard as before.) You 
have explained things so tenderly and truth- 
fully, too ! You haven't spoken or written a 
word of warning, and you have let me believe 
in you till the last minute. You haven't con- 
descended to give me your reason yet. No ! 
A woman could not have managed it half so 
well. Are there many men like you in the 
world i 

Capt. G. — I'm sure I don't know. ( To 
khitmatgar^ Ohe ! Simpkin do, 

Mrs. H. — You call yourself a man of the 
world, don't you? Do men of the world 
behave like Devils when they do a woman 
the honor to get tired of her ? 

Capt. G. — I'm sure I don't know. Don't 
speak so loud ! 

Mrs. H. — Keep us respectable, O Lord, 
whatever happens ! Don't be afraid of my 
compromising you. You've chosen your 
ground far too well, and I've been properly 
brought up. (^Lowering fan.) Haven't 
you any pity, Pip, except for yourself? 

Capt. G. — Wouldn't it be rather im- 



THE TENTS OF KEDAR. 59 

pertinent of me to say that I'm sorry for 
you? 

Mrs. H. — I think you have said it once 
or twice before. YouVe growing very care- 
ful of my feelings. My God, Pip, I was a 
good woman once ! You said I was. 
You Ve made me what I am. What are you 
going to do with me ? What are you going 
to do with me ? Won't you say that you are 
sorry ? {Helps herself to iced asparagus?) 

Capt. G. — I am sorry for you, if you 
want the pity of such a brute as I am. I'm 
aw fly sorry for you. 

Mrs. H. — Rather tame for a man of the 
world. Do you think that that admission 
clears you ? 

Capt. G. — What can I do ? I can only 
tell you what I think of myself. You can't 
think worse than that ? 

Mrs. H. — Oh, yes, I can ! And now, 
will you tell me the reason of all this? 
Remorse ? Has Bayard been suddenly con- 
science-stricken ? 

Capt. G. — {Angrily y his eyes still low- 



6o THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS. 

ered.) — No ! The thing has come to an 
e!id on my side. That's all. Mafisch ! 

Mrs. H. — "That's all. Mafisch!'' As 
though I were a Cairene Dragoman. You 
used to make prettier speeches. D'you 
remember when you said . . . ? 

Capt. G. — For Heaven's sake don't bring 
that back ! Call me anything you like and 
I'll admit it — 

Mrs. H. — But you don't care to be re- 
minded of old lies ? If I could hope to hurt 
yoti one-tenth as much as you have hurt me 
to-night . . . No, I wouldn't — I couldn't do 
it — liar though you are. 

Capt. G. — I've spoken the truth. 

Mrs. H. — My dear Sir, you flatter your- 
self. You have lied over the reason. Pip, 
remember that I know you as you don't 
know yourself. Vou have been everything 
to me, though you are . . . {Fan-guard.) 
Oh, what a contemptible Thing it is ! And 
so you are merely tired of me ? 

Capt. G. — Since you insist upon my re- 
peating it — Yes. 



THE TENTS OF KEDAR. 6 1 

Mrs. H. — Lie the first. I wish I knew a 
coarser word. Lie seems so ineffectual in 
your case. The fire has just died out and 
there is no fresh one ? Think for a minute, 
Pip, if you care whether I despise you more 
than I do. Simply Mafisch, is it ? 

Capt. G. — Yes. (^Aside.) I think I 
deserve this. 

Mrs. H. — Lie number two. Before the 
next glass chokes you, tell me her name. 

Capt. G. — (Aside.) Til make her pay 
for dragging Minnie into the business ! 
{Aloud.) Is it likely? 

Mrs. H. — Very likely if you thought that 
it would flatter your vanity. You'd cry my 
name on the housetops to make people turn 
round. 

Capt. G. — I wish I had. There would 
have been an end of this business. 

Mrs. H. — Oh, no, there would not . . . 
And so you were going to be virtuous and 
blasiy were you ? To come to me and say : 
— " IVe done with you. The incident is 
clo-osed." I ought to be proud of having 
kept such a man so long. 



62 THE STORY OF THE GADSBVS. 

Capt. G. — (Aside.) It only remains to 
pray for the end of the dinner. (^Aloud,) 
You know what I think of myself. 

Mrs. H. — As it's the only person in the 
world you ever do think of, and as I know 
your mind thoroughly, I do. You want to 
get it all over and . . . Oh, I can't keep you 
back! And youVe going — think of it, Pip 
— to throw me over for another woman. 
And you swore that all other women were 
. . . Pip, my Pip ! She cant care for you as 
I do. Believe me, she can't ! Is it any one 
that I know ? 

Capt. G. — Thank Goodness it isn't. 
{Aside,) I expected a cyclone, but not an 
earthquake. 

Mrs. H. — S\iQ can't ! Is there anything 
that I wouldn't do for you — or haven't done ? 
And to think that I should take this trouble 
over you, knowing what you are ! Do you 
despise me for it ? 

Capt. G. — ( Wiping his mouth to hide a 
smile?) Again ?• It's entirely a work of 
charity on your part 



THE TENTS OF KEDAR, 63 

Mrs. H. — Ahhh ! But I have no right to 
resent it. . . . Is she better-looking than I ? 
Who was it said — ? 

Capt. G. — No — not that ! 

Mrs. H. — ril be more merciful than you 
were. Don't you know that all women are 
alike ? 

Capt. G. — {Aside?) Then this is the ex- 
ception that proves the rule. 

Mrs. H. — All of them! Til tell you 
anything you like. I will, upon my word ! 
They only want the admiration — from any- 
body — no matter who — anybody ! But 
there is always one man that they care for 
more than any one else in the world, and 
would sacrifice all the others to. Oh, do lis- 
ten ! I've kept the Vaynor man trotting after 
me like a poodle, and he believes that he is 
the only man I am interested in. TU tell 
you what he said to me. 

Capt. G. — Spare him. {Aside?) I won- 
der what his version is. 

Mrs. H. — He's been waiting for me to 
look at him all through dinner. Shall I 



64 THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS. 

do it, and you can see what an idiot he 
looks ? 

Capt. G. — " But what imports the nomi- 
nation of this gentleman ? " 

Mrs. H. — Watch! {Sends a glance to 
the Vaynor man, who tries vainly to combine 
a mouthful of ice-pudding, a smirk of self- 
satisfaction, a glare of intense devotion, and 
the stolidity of a British dining countenance^ 

Capt. G. — ( Critically?) He doesn't look 
pretty. Why didn't you wait till the spoon 
was out of his mouth ? 

Mrs. H. — To amuse you. She'll make an 
exhibition of you as IVe made of him ; and 
people will laugh at you. Oh, Pip, can't you 
see that ? It's as plain as the noonday sun. 
You'll be trotted about and told lies, and made 
a fool of like the others. / never made a 
fool of you, did I ? 

Capt. G. — (Aside.) What a clever little 
woman it is ! 

Mrs. H. — Well, what have you to say ? 

Capt. G. — I feel better. 

Mrs. H. — Yes, I suppose so, after I have 



THE TENTS OF KEDAR, 65 

come down to your level. I couldn't have 
done it if I hadn't cared for you so much. I 
have spoken the truth. 

Capt. G. — It doesn't alter the situation. 

Mrs. H. — {^Passionately.^ Then she has 
said that she cares for you ! Don't believe 
her, Pip. It's a lie — as black as yours to me ! 

Capt. G. — Ssssteady ! I've a notion that 
a friend of yours is looking at you. 

Mrs. H. — He ! I hate him. He introduced 
you to me. 

Capt. G. — (Aside.) And some people 
would like women to assist in making the 
laws. Introduction to imply condonement. 
(Aloud.) Well, you see, if you can remem- 
ber so far back as that, I couldn't, in common 
politeness, refuse the offer. 

Mrs. H. — In common politeness! We 
have got beyond that / 

Capt. G. — (Aside.) Old ground means 
fresh trouble. (Aloud.) On my honor — 

Mrs. H. — Your Tvhat ? Ha, ha ! 

Capt. G. — Dishonor, then. She's not 
what you imagine. I meant to — 



66 THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS. 

Mrs. H. — Don't tell me anything about 
her ! She wont care for you, and when you 
come back, after having made an exhibition 
of yourself, you'll find me occupied with — 

Capt. G. — {Insolently.) You couldn't 
while I am alive. (^Aszde.) If that doesn't 
bring her pride to her rescue, nothing will. 

Mrs. H. — {Drawing herself up.) Couldn't 
do it? If {Softening^ You're right. I 
don't believe I could — though you are what 
you are — a coward and a liar in grain. 

Capt. G. — It doesn't hurt 50 much after 
your little lecture — with demonstrations. 

Mrs. H. — One mass of vanity! Will 
nothing ever touch you in this life ? There 
must be a Hereafter if it's only for the bene- 
fit of .. . But you will have it all to your- 
self. 

Capt. G. — {Under his eyebrows.) Are 
you so certain of that ? 

Mrs. H. — I shall have had mine in this 
life ; and it will serve me right. 

Capt. G. — But the admiration that you 
insisted on so strongly a moment ago ? 
{Aside.) Oh, I am a brute ! 



THE TENTS OF KEDAR. 6/ 

Mrs. H. — {^Fiercely). Will that console 
me for knowing that you will go to her with 
the same words, the same arguments, and 
the — the same pet names you used to me ? 
And if she cares for you, you two will laugh 
over my story. Won't that be punishment 
heavy enough even for me — even for me ? 
. . . And it's all useless. That's another 
punishment. 

Capt. G. — {Feebly?) Oh, come ! I'm 
not so low as you think. 

Mrs. H. — Not now, perhaps, but you will 
be. Oh, Pip, if a woman flatters your vanity, 
there's nothing on earth that you would not 
tell her; and no meanness that you would 
not do. Have I known you so long without 
knowing that? 

Capt. G. — If you can trust me in nothing 
else — and I don't see why I should be 
trusted — you can count upon my holding 
my tongue. 

Mrs. H. — If you denied everything you've 
said this evening and declared it was all in 
fun (a long pause) y I'd trust you. Not 



t>u THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS. 

Otherwise. All I ask is, don't tell her my 
name. Please don't. A man might forget : 
a woman never would. {Looks up table and 
sees hostess beginning to collect eyes.) So it's 
all ended, through no fault of mine. . . . 
Haven't I behaved beautifully? Fve ac- 
cepted your dismissal, and you managed it as 
cruelly as you could, and I have made you 
respect my sex, haven't I ? {Arranging- 
gloves and fan.) I only pray that she'll 
know you some day as I know you now. I 
wouldn't be you then, for I think even your 
conceit will be hurt. I hope she'll pay you 
back the humiliation you've brought on me. 
I hope . . . No. I don't. I cant gvjo, you 
up ! I must have something to look forward 
to or I shall go crazy. When it's all over, 
come back to me, come back to me, and you'll 
find that you're my Pip still ! 

Capt. G. — ( Very clearly,) 'False move, 
and you pay for it. It's a girl ! 

Mrs. H. — {Rising.) Then it was true ! 
They said . . . but I wouldn't insult you by 
asking. A girl ! / was a girl not very long 



THE TENTS OF KEDAR. 69 

ago. Be good to her, Pip. I dare say she 
believes in you. 

Goes out with an uncertain smile. He 
watches her through the door^ and settles into 
a chair as the men redistribute themselves, 

Capt. G. — Now, if there is any Power who 
looks after this world, will He kindly tell me 
what I have done ? {Reaching out for the 
claret y and half aloud ^ Whzt have I done? 

CURTAIN. 



Vijjcmiu ijf 




•' w** r«m 



^ 



•F New YeML 



WITH ANY AMAZEMENT. 



" And are not afraid with any amazement."^ 

Marriage Service, 

Scene. — A bachelor s bedroom — toilet-table 
arranged with unnatural neatness. Cap- 
tain Gadsby asleep and snoring heavily. 
Time, 10.30 a. m. — a glorious autumn day 
at Simula, Enter delicately Captain Maf- 
flin of Gadsby s regiment. Looks at 
sleeper y and shakes his head murmuring 
'* Poor Gaddyy Performs violent fantasia 
with hair-brushes on chair-back, 

Capt. M. — Wake up, my sleeping beauty ! 
{Howls.) 

" Uprouse ye, then, my merry merry men ! 

It is our opening day ! 

It is our opening da-ay ! " 
70 



WITH AN V AMAZhMENT, 71 

Gaddy, the little dicky-birds have been bill- 
ing and cooing for ever so long ; and Tm 
here ! 

Capt. G. — (^Sitting up and yawning,) 
'Mornin'. This is awfly good of you, old 
fellow. Most awfly good of you. 'Don't 
know what I should do without you. Ton 
my soul, I don't. 'Haven't slept a wink all 
night. 

Capt. M. — I didn't get in till half-past 
eleven. 'Had a look at you then, and you 
seemed to be sleeping as soundly as a con- 
demned criminal. 

Capt. G. — Jack, if you want to make those 
disgustingly worn-out jokes, you'd better go 
away. ( With portentous gravity,) It's the 
happiest day in my life. 

Capt. M. — ( Ckuckliftg grimly,) Not by 
a very long chalk, my son. You're going 
through some of the most refined torture 
you've ever known. But be calm, /am with 
you. 'Shun ! Dress ! 

Caft. G. — Eh ! Wha-at ? 

Capt. M. — Do you suppose that you are 



^2 THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS. 

your own master for the next twelve hours ? 
If you //(?, of course . . . (^Makes for the door ^ 

Capt. G. — No ! For Goodness' sake, old 
man, don't do that ! You'll see me through, 
won't you ? I've been mugging up that 
beastly drill, and can't remember a line of it. 

Capt. M. — (^Overhauling G!s uniform^ 
Go and tub. Don't bother me. I'll give you 
ten minutes to dress in. 

Interval, filled by the noise as of a healthy 
grampus splashing in the bath-room. 

Capt. G. — {Emerging from dressing- 
room.^ What time is it ? 

Capt. M. — Nearly eleven. 

Capt. G. — Five hours more. O Lord ! 

Capt. M. — {Aside?) 'Fiii^t sign of funk, 
that. 'Wonder if it's going to spread. 
{Aloud?) Come along to breakfast. 

Capt. G. — I can't eat anything. I don't 
want any breakfast. 

Capt. M. — {Aside?) So early ! {Aloud?) 
Captain Gadsby, I order you to eat breakfast, 
and a dashed good breakfast, too. None of 
your bridal airs and graces with me ! 



WITH ANY AMAZEMENT. 73 

Leads G. downstairs, and stands over him 
while he eats two chops, 

Capt. G. — ( Who has looked at his watch 
thrice in the last Jive minutes^ What time 
IS it? 

Capt. M. — Time to come for a walk. 
Light up. 

Capt. G. — I haven't smoked for ten days, 
and I won't now. ( Takes cheroot which M. 
has cut for him, and blows smoke through his 
nose luxuriously?) We aren't going down 
the Mall, are we ? 

Capt. M. — (Aside,) They're all alike in 
these stages. {Aloud.) No, my Vestal. 
We're going along the quietest road we can 
find. 

Capt. G. Any chance of seeing Her ? 

Capt. M. — Innocent ! No ! Come along, 
and, if you want me for the final obsequies, 
don't cut my eye out with your stick. 

Capt. G. — (Spinning round.) I say, isn't 
She the dearest creature that ever walked ? 
What's the time ? What comes after " wilt 
thou take this woman ? " 



74 THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS, 

Capt. M. — You go for the ring. R'clect 
it'll be on the top of my right-hand little fin- 
ger, and just be careful how you draw it off, 
because I shall have the Verger's fees some- 
where in my glove. 

Capt. G. — ( Walking forward hastily?) 

D the Verger ! Come along ! It's past 

twelve, and I haven't seen Her since yester- 
day evening. {Spinning round again?) 
She's an absolute angel. Jack, and She's a 
dashed deal too good for me. Look here, 
does She come up the aisle on my arm, or 
how? 

Capt. M. — If I thought that there was the 
least chance of your remembering anything 
for two consecutive minutes, I'd tell you. 
Stop passaging about like that ! 

Capt. G. — {Halting in the middle of the 
road?) I say, Jack. 

Capt. M. — Keep quiet for another ten 
minutes if you can, you lunatic, and walk! 

The two tramp at five miles an hour for 
fifteen minutes. 

Capt. G. — What's the time ? How about 



WITH ANY AMAZEMENT. 7 5 

that cursed wedding-cake and the slippers ? 
They don't throw 'em about in church, do 
they ? 

Capt. M. — In-variably. The Padre leads 
off with his boots. 

Capt. G. — Confound your silly soul ! 
Don't make fun of me. I can't stand it, and 
I won't ! 

Capt. M. — (^Untroubled,) So-ooo, old 
horse ! You'll have to sleep for a couple of 
hours this afternoon. 

Capt. G. — (Spinning round,) I'm not 
going to be treated like a dashed child. 
Understand that ! 

Capt. M. — (Aside,) Nerves gone to 
fiddle-strings. What a day we're having ! 
(Tenderly putting his hand on G!s shoul- 
der^ My David, how long have you known 
this Jonathan? Would I come up here to 
make a fool of you — after all these years ? 

Capt. G. — (Penitently^ I know, I know, 
Jack — but I'm as upset as I can be. Don't 
mind what I say. Just hear me run through 
the drill and see if I've got it all right : — 



76 THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS, 

** To have and to hold for better or worse, 
as it was in the beginning, is now, and ever 
shall be, world without end, so help me God. 
— Amen." 

Capt. M. — {Suffocating with suppressed 
laughter^ Yes. That's about the gist of it. 
ril prompt if you get into a hat. 

Capt. G. — {Earnestly^ Yes, you'll 
stick by me, Jack, won't you? I'm awf'ly 
happy, but I don't mind telling you that I'm 
in a blue funk ! 

Capt. M. — ( Gravely^ Are you ? I 
should never have noticed it. You don't 
look like it. 

Capt. G. — Don't I ? That's all right. 
{Spinning round?) On my soul and honor, 
Jack, She's the sweetest little angel that ever 
came down from the sky. There isn't a 
woman on earth fit to speak to Her ! 

Capt. M. — {Aside.) And this is old 
Gaddy! {Aloud.) Go on if it relieves 
you. 

Capt. G. — You can laugh! That's all 
you wild asses of bachelors are fit for. 



WITH ANY AMAZEMENT. 77 

Capt. M. — (^Drawling.) You nevei 
would wait for the troop to come up. You 
aren't quite married yet, y'know. 

Capt. G. — Ugh ! That reminds me. 
I don't believe I shall be able to get into my 
boots. Let's go home and try 'em on ! 
( Hurries forward, ) 

Capt. M. — 'Wouldn't be in your shoes for 
anything that Asia has to offer. 

Capt. G. — {Spinning round.) That just 
shows your hideous blackness of soul — 
your dense stupidity — your brutal narrow- 
mindedness. There's only one fault about 
you. You're the best of good fellows, and 
I don't know what I should have done with- 
out you, but — you aren't married. {Wags 
his head gravely,) Take a wife, Jack. 

Capt. M. — ( With a face like a wall?) 
Ya-as. Whose for choice ? 

Capt. G. — If you're going to be a black- 
guard, I'm going on . . . What's the time ? 

Capt. M. {Hums) — 

. "An* since 'twas very clear we drank only ginger-beer, 
Faith, there must ha' been some stingo in the ginger." 



yS THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS. 

Come back, you maniac. Fm going to 
take you home, and you're going to lie 
down. 

Capt. G. — What on earth do I want to 
lie down for ? 

Capt. M. — Give me a light from your 
cheroot and see. 

Capt. G. — ( Watching cheroot-butt quiver 
like a tuning-fork?) Sweet state Fm in ! 

Capt. M. — You are. FU get you a peg 
and you'll go to sleep. 

They return and M. compounds a four- 
finger peg. 

Capt. G. — O, bus I bus I It'll make me 
as drunk as an owl. 

Capt. M. — 'Curious thing, 'twont have the 
slightest effect on you. Drink it off, chuck 
yourself down there, and go to bye-bye. 

Capt. G. — It's absurd. I sha'n't sleep. 
I know I sha'n't ! 

Falls into heavy doze at end of seven min- 
utes. Capt. M. watches him tenderly. 

Capt. M. — Poor old Gaddy ! I've seen a 
few turned off before, but never one who 



WITH ANY AMAZEMENT. 79 

went to the gallows in this condition. 'Can't 
tell how it affects 'em, though. It's the 
thoroughbreds that sweat when they're 
backed into double-harness. . . . And that's 
the man who went through the guns at 
Amdheran like a devil possessed of devils. 
{Leans over G.) But this is worse than the 
guns, old pal — worse than the guns, isn't 
it? (G. turns in his sleeps and M. touches 
him clumsily on the forehead^ Poor, dear 
old Gaddy ! Going like the rest of 'em — 
going like the rest of 'em . . . Friend that 
sticketh closer than a brother . . . eight 
years. Dashed bit of a slip of a girl . . . 
eight weeks ! And — where's your friend ? 
{Smokes disconsolately till church clock 
strikes three, ^ 

Capt. M. — Up with you ! Get into your 
kit. 

Capt. G. — Already ? Isn't it too soon ? 
Hadn't I better have a shave ? 

Capt. M. — No I You're all right. 
{Aside?) He'd chip his chin to pieces. 

Capt. G. — What's the hurry ? 



So THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS. 

Capt. M. — You Ve got to be there first. 

Capt. G. — To be stared at ? 

Capt. M. — Exactly. You're part of the 
show. Where's the burnisher ? Your spurs 
are in a shameful state. 

Capt. G. — {,Gruffly^ Jack, I be damned 
if you shall do that for me. 

Capt. M. — {More gruffly^ Dry up and 
get dressed ! If I choose to clean your 
spurs, you're under my orders. 

Capt. G. dresses, yi. follows suit. 

Capt. M. — {Critically, walking round.) 
M yes, you'll do. Only don't look so like a 
criminal. Ring, gloves, fees — that's all 
right for me. Let your mustache alone. 
Now, if the tats are ready, we'll go. 

Capt. G. — {Nervously.) It's much too 
soon. Let's light up ! Let's have a peg ! 
Let's — 

Capt. M. — Let's make bally asses of our- 
selves. 

Bells. — ( Without.') 

Good — peo — pie — all 
To prayers — we call. 



WITH ANY AMAZEMENT. 8 1 

Capt. M. — There go the bells ! Come 
on — unless you'd rather not. {They ride 

off) 

Bells. — 

We honor the King 
And Bride's joy do bring -^ 
Good tidings we tell 
And ring the Dead's knelL 

Capt. G. — {^Dismounting at the door of 
the Church^ I say, aren*t we much too 
soon ? There are no end of people inside. 
I say, aren't we much too late ? Stick by me, 
Jack ! What the devil do I do ? 

Capt. M. — Strike an attitude at the head 
of the aisle and wait for Her. (G. groans 
as M. wheels him into position before three 
hundred eyes.) 

Capt. M. — {Imploringly^ Gaddy, if 
you love me, for pity's sake, for the Honor of 
the Regiment, stand up ! Chuck yourself 
into your uniform ! Look like a man ! Fve 
got to speak to the Padre a minute. (G. 
breaks into a gentle perspiration^ If you 



82 THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS. 

wipe your face Til never be your best man 
again. Stand up! (G. trembles visibly?) 

Capt. M. — {Returning?) She's coming 
now. Look out when the music starts. 
There's the organ beginning to clack. 

Bride steps out of 'rickshaw at Church 
door. G. catches a glimpse of her and takes 
heart. 

Organ. — {JDiapason and bourdon?) 

The Voice that breathed o'er Eden, 

That earliest marriage day, 
The primal marriage blessing, 

It hath not passed away. 

Capt. M. — ( Watching G.) By Jove ! 
He is looking well. 'Didn't think he had it 
in him. 

Capt. G. — How long does this hymn go 
on for? 

Capt. M. — It will be over directly. 
{Anxiously?) Beginning to bleach and gulp ? 
Hold on, Gaddy, and think o' the Regiment. 

Capt. G. — {Measuredly ?) 1 say, there's 
a big brown lizard crawling up that wall. 



WITH ANY AMAZEMENT. 83 

Capt. M. — My Sainted Mother ! The last 
stage of collapse ! 

Bride comes up to left of altar, lifts her 
eyes once to G., who is suddenly smitten mad. 

Capt. G. — (To himself again and again.) 
Little Featherweight*s a woman — a woman ! 
And I thought she was a little girl. 

Capt. M. — (In a whisper.) From the 
halt — inward wheel. 

Capt. G. obeys mechanically and the cere- 
mony proceeds. 

Padre. — ... only unto her as long as 
ye both shall live ? 

Capt. G. — (His throat useless^ Ha — 
hmmm ! 

Capt. M. — Say you will or you won't. 
There's no second deal here. 

Bride gives response with perfect coolness ^ 
-and is given away by the father. 

Capt. G. — ( Thinking to show his learn- 
ing^ Jack, give me away now, quick ! 

Capt. M. — You Ve given yourself away 
quite enough. Her right hand, man ! Re- 
peat ! Repeat! ** Theodore Philip." Have 
you forgotten your own name ? 



84 THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS. 

Capt. G. stumbles through Affirmation^ 
which Bride repeats without a tremor. 

Capt. M. — Now the ring ! Follow the 
Padre ! Don't pull ofif my glove ! Here it 
is ! Great Cupid, he's found his voice ! 

G. repeats Troth in a voice to be heard to 
the efid of the Church and turns on his heel. 

Capt. M. — {Desperately?^ Rein back ! 
Back to your troop ! Tisn't half legal yet. 

Padre. — ... joined together let no man 
put asunder. 

Capt. G. paralyzed with fear^ jibs after 
Blessing. 

Capt. M. — {Quickly?) On your own 
front — one length. Take her with you. I 
don't come. You Ve nothing to say. (Capt. 
Ox. jingles up to altar?) 

Capt. M. — {In a piercing rattle meant to 
be a whisper?) Kneel, you stiff-necked ruf- 
fian ! Kneel ! 

Padre. — ... whose daughters ye are, so 
long as ye do well and are not afraid with 
any amazement. 

Capt. M. — Dismiss! Break off! Left 
wheel ! 



WITH ANY AMAZEMENT. 8$ 

All troop to vestry. They sign. 

Capt. M. — Kiss Her, Gaddy. 

Capt. G. — {Rubbing the ink into his 
glove?) Eh ! Wha — at ? 

Capt. M. — {Taking one pace to Bride.) 
If you don*t, I shall. 

Capt. G. — {Interposing an arm.) Not 
this journey ! 

General kissing, in which Capt. G. is pur- 
sued by unknown female. 

Capt. G. — {Faintly to M.) This is Hades ! 
Can I wipe my face now ? 

Capt. M. — My responsibility has ended. 
Better ask Missis Gadsby. 

Capt. G. winces as if shot and procession is 
Mendelssohned out of Church to paternal 
roof, where usual tortures take place over 
the wedding-cake. 

Capt. M. — {At table.) Up with you, 
Gaddy. They expect a speech. 

Capt. G. — {After three minutes' agony.) 
Ha — hmmm. ( Thunders of applause.) 

Capt. M. — Doocid good, for a first at- 
tempt. Now go and change your kit while 



86 THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS. 

Mamma is weeping over — ** the Missus." 
(Capt. G. disappears. Capt. M. starts up 
tearing his hair ?) It's not ^^^ legal. Where 
are the shoes ? Get an ayah. 

Ayah. — Missie Captain Sahib done gone 
band karo all the jutis. 

Capt. M. — (^Brandishing scabbarded 
sword.) Woman, produce those shoes! 
Some one lend me a bread-knife. We mustn't 
crack Gaddy's head more than it is. (^Slices 
heel off white satin slipper and puts slipper 
up his sleeve^ Where is the Bride? {To 
the company at large.) Be tender with that 
rice. It's a heathen custom. Give me the 
big bag. 

• •••••• 

Bride slips out quietly into 'rickshaw and 
departs towards the sunset. 

Capt. M. — {In the open?) Stole away, by 
Jove ! So much the worse for Gaddy ! Here 
he is. Now, Gaddy, this'll be livelier than 
Amdheran ! Where's your horse ? 

Capt. G . — {Furiously, seeing that the 

women are out of earshot?) Where the 

is my Wife? 



WITH ANY AMAZEMENT, 8/ 

Capt. M. — Half-way to Mahasu by this 
time. You'll have to ride like Young Lx)ch- 
invar. 

Horse comes round on his hind legs ; re- 
fuses to let G. h2ndle him. 

Capt. G. — Oh, you will, will you ? Get 
round, you brute — you hog — you beast! 
Get round I 

Wrenches horses head over, nearly break- 
ing lower jaw ; swings himself into saddle^ 
and sends home both spurs in the midst of a 
spattering gale of Best Patna. 

Capt. M. — For your life and your love — 
ride, Gaddy ! — And God bless you ! 

Throws half a pound of rice at G., who 
disappears, bowed forward on the saddle, in a 
cloud of sunlit dust. 

Capt. M. — IVe lost old Gaddy. {Lights 
cigarette and strolls off, singing absently) : — 

" You may carve it on his tombstone, you may cut it on 
his card, 
That a young man married is a young man marred ! " 

Miss Deercourt. — {From her horse.) 



88 THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS, 

Really, Captain Mafflin ! You are more plain- 
spoken than polite ! 

Capt. M. — {Aside?) They say marriage 
is like cholera. 'Wonder wholl be the next 
victim. 

White satin slipper slides from his sleeve 
and falls at his feet. Left wofidering, 

CURTAIN. 



THE GARDEN OF EDEN. 



"And ye shall be as — Gods ! *' 

Scene. — Thymy grass-plot at back of the 
Mahasu dak-bungalow, overlooking little 
wooded valley. On the left, glimpse of the 
Dead Forest of Fagoo ; on the right, Simla 
Hills. In background, line of the Snows. 
Capt. Gadsby, now one week a husband^ is 
smoking the pipe of peace on a rug in the 
sunshine. Banjo and tobacco-pouch on 
rug. Overhead, the Fagoo eagles. Mrs. 
G. comes out of bungalow^ 

Mrs. G. — My husband ! 

Capt. G. — (^Lazily, with intense enjoy- 
ment?) Eh, wha-at ? Say that again. 

Mrs. G. — IVe written to Mamma and told 
her that we shall be back on the 1 7th. 

89 



go THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS. 

Capt. G. — Did you give her my love ? 

Mrs. G. — No, I kept all that for myself. 
(^Sitting down by his side.) I thought you 
wouldn*t mind. 

Capt. G. — ( With mock sternness?) I ob- 
ject awf ly. How did you know that it was 
yours to keep ? 

Mrs. G. — I guessed, Phil. 

Capt. G. — {Rapturously^ Lit-tle Feath- 
erweight ! 

Mrs. G. — I wofit be called those sporting 
pet names, bad boy. 

Capt. G. — You'll be called anything I 
choose. Has it ever occurred to you, Madam, 
that you are my Wife ? 

Mrs. G. — It has. I haven't ceased won- 
dering at it yet. 

Capt. G. — Nor I. It seems so strange ; 
and yet, somehow, it doesn't. ( Confidently^ 
You see, it could have been no one else. 

Mrs. G. — {Softly.) No. No one else 
— for me or for you. It must have been all 
arranged from the beginning. Phil, tell me 
again what made you care for me. 



THE GARDEN OF EDEN, 9I 

Capt. G. — How could I help it ? You 
werejV^^j you know. 

Mrs. G. — Did you ever want to help it ? 
Speak the truth ! 

Capt. G. — {^A twinkle in his eye?) I did, 
darling, just at the first. But only at the very 
first. ( Chuckles^ I called you — stoop low 
and ril whisper — "a little beast." Ho ! Ho ! 
Ho! 

Mrs. G. — ( Taking him by the mustache 
and making him. sit up^ ** A — little — 
beast ! " Stop laughing over your crime ! 
And yet you had the — the — awful cheek to 
propose to me ! 

Capt. G. — I'd changed my mind then. 
And you weren't a little beast any more. 

Mrs. G. — Thank you. Sir! And when 
was I ever? 

Capt. G. — Never ! But that first day, when 
you gave me tea in that peach-colored muslin 
gown thing, you looked — you did indeed, 
dear — such an absurd little mite. And I 
didn't know what to say to you. 

Mrs. G. — ( Twisting mustache^ So 



92 THE STORY OF THE GADSBVS, 

you said ** little beast/* Upon my word, Sir ! 
I cdXXedyou a '' Crrrreature," but I wish now 
I had called you something worse. 

Capt. G. — (Very meekly.) I apologize, 
but you're hurting me awfly. (Interlude^ 
You're welcome to torture me again on those 
terms. 

Mrs. G. — Oh, why did you let me do 
It? 

Capt. G. — (Looking across valley?^ No 
reason in particular, but — if it amused you 
or did you any good — you might — wipe 
those dear little boots of yours on me. 

Mrs. G. — (Stretching out her hands.) 

Don't ! Oh, don't ! Philip, my King, please 

don't talk like that. It's how /feel. You're 

so much too good for me. So much too 

good ! 

Capt. G. — Me ! I'm not fit to put my arm 
round you. (Puts it round ^ 

Mrs. G. — Yes, you are. But I — what 
have I ever done ? 

Capt. G. — Given me a wee bit of your 
heart, haven't you, my Queen ? 



THE GARDEN OF EDEN, 93 

Mrs. G. — That's nothing. Any one 
would do that. They cou — couldn't help it. 

Capt. G. — Pussy, you'll make me horribly 
conceited. Just when I was beginning to 
feel so humble, too. 

Mrs. G. — Humble! I don't believe it's 
in your character. 

Capt. G. — What do you know of my char- 
acter, Impertinence? 

Mrs. G. — Ah, but I shall, sha'n't I, Phil ? 
I shall have time in all the years and years to 
come, to know everything about you ; and 
there will be no secrets between us. 

Capt. G. — Little witch ! I believe you 
know me thoroughly already. 

Mrs. G. — I think I can guess. You're 
selfish ? 

Capt. G. — Yes. 

Mrs. G. — Foolish ? 

Capt. G. — Very, 

Mrs. G. — And a dear? 

Capt. G. — That is as my lady pleases. 

Mrs. G. — Then your lady is pleased. 
{A pause ^ Dyou know that we're two sol- 
emn, serious, grown-up people — 



\ 



94 THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS. 

Capt. G. — ( Tilting her straw hat over 
her eyes.) You grown up ! Pooh ! You're 
a baby. 

Mrs. G. — And weVe talking nonsense. 

Capt. G. — Then let's go on talking non- 
sense. I rather like it. Pussy, Til tell you 
a secret. Promise not to repeat ? 

Mrs. G. — Ye — es. Only to you. 

Capt. G. — I love you. 

Mrs. G. — Re-ally ! For how long ? 

Caff. G. — For ever and ever. 

Mrs. G. — That's a long time. 

Capt. G. — Think so ? It's the shortest / 
can do with. 

Mrs. G. — You're getting quite clever. 

Capt. G. — I'm talking to you, 

Mrs. G. — Prettily turned. Hold up your 
stupid old head and I'll pay you for it ! 

Capt. G. — (^Affecting supreme contempt.) 
Take it yourself if you want it. 

Mrs. G. — I've a great mind to . . . and 
I will ! ( Takes ity and is repaid with 
i7tterest.) 

Cavt. G. — Little Featherweight, it's my 

opinion that we are a couple of idiots. 



THE GARDEN OF EDEN. 95 

Mrs. G. — We're the only two sensible 
people in the world ! Ask the eagle. He's 
coming by. 

Capt. G. — Ah ! I dare say he's seen a 
good many ** sensible people " at Mahasu. 
They say that those birds live for ever so 
long. 

Mrs. G. — How long ? 

Capt. G. — A hundred and twenty years. 

Mrs. G. — A hundred and twenty years! 
O-oh ! And in a hundred and twenty years 
where will these two sensible people be ? 

Capt. G. — What does it matter so long as 
we are together now ? 

Mrs. G. — {^Looking round the horizon^ 
Yes. Only you and I — I and you — in the 
whole wide, wide world until the end. {^Sees 
the line of the Snows?) How big and quiet 
the hills look! D'you think they care for 
us? 

Capt. G. — 'Can't say I've consulted 'em 
particularly. / care, and that's enough for 
me. 

Mrs. G. — {Drawing nearer to him.) 



96 THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS. 

Yes, now . . . but afterwards. What's that 
little black blur on the Snows ? 

Capt. G. — A snowstorm, forty miles 
away. You'll see it move, as the wind car- 
ries it across the face of that spur, and then 
it will be all gone. 

Mrs. G. — And then it will be all gone. 
{^Shivers?) 

Capt. G. — (^Anxiously.) *Not chilled, 
pet, are you ? 'Better let me get your cloak. 

Mrs. G. — No. Don't leave me, Phil. 
Stay here. I believe I am afraid. Oh, why 
are the hills so horrid ! Phil, promise me, 
promise me that you'll always, always love 
me. 

Capt. G. — What's the trouble, darling? 
I can't promise any more than I have ; but 
ril promise that again and again if you like. 

Mrs. G. — {^Her head 07i his shoulder.) 
Say it, then — say it ! N-no — don't ! The 
— the — eagles would laugh. (^Recovering.) 
My husband, you've married a little goose. 

Capt. G. — ( Very tenderly.) Have I ? 
I am content whatever she is, so long as she 
is mine. 



THE GARDEN OF EDEN. 9/ 

Mrs. G. — ( Quickly^ Because she is 
yours or because she is me mineself ? 

Capt. G. — Because she is both. {Pit- 
eously.) Vm not clever, dear, and I don't 
think I can make myself understood properly. 

Mrs. G. — / understand. Pip, will you 
tell me something ? 

Capt. G. — Anything you like. {Aside.) 
I wonder what's coming now. 

Mrs. G. — {Haltingly, her eyes lowered^ 
You told me once in the old days — centuries 
and centuries ago — that you had been en- 
gaged before. I didn't say anything — then, 

Capt. G. — {Innocently^ Why not ? 

Mrs. G. — {Raising her eyes to his.) 
Because — because I was afraid of losing 
you, my heart. But now — tell about it — 
please. 

Capt. G. — There's nothing to tell. I was 
awf 'ly old then — nearly two and twenty — 
and she was quite that. 

Mrs. G. — That means she was older than 
you. I shouldn't like her to have been 
younger. Well ? 



gS THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS. 

Capt. G. — Well, I fancied myself in love 
and raved about a bit, and — oh, yes, by 
Jove ! I made up poetry. Ha ! Ha ! 

Mrs. G. — You never wrote any for me ! 
What happened ? 

Capt. G. — I came out here, and the 
whole thing went phut. She wrote to say 
that there had been a mistake, and then she 
married. 

Mrs. G. — Did she care for you much ? 

Cait. G. — No. At least she didn^t show 
it as far as I remember. 

Mrs. G. — As far as you remember ! Do 
you remember her name ? {Hears it and 
bows her head,) Thank you, my husband. 

Capt. G. — Who but you had the right ? 
Now, Little Featherweight, have you ever 
been mixed up in any dark and dismal 
tragedy ? 

Mrs. G. — If you call me Mrs. Gadsby, 
pVaps ril tell 

Capt. G. — ( Throwing Parade rasp into 
his voice?) Mrs. Gadsby, confess ! 

Mrs. G. — Good Heavens, Phil ! I never 



THE GARDEN OF EDEN. 99 

knew that you could speak in that terrible 
voice. 

Capt. G. — You don't know half my 
accomplishments yet. Wait till we are 
settled in the Plains, and TU show you how 
I bark at my troop. You were going to say, 
darling ? 

Mrs. G. — I — I don't like to, after that 
voice. {Tremulously.) Phil, never you 
dare to speak to me in that tone, whatever 
I may do ! 

Capt. G. — My poor little love ! Why, 
youVe shaking all over. I am so sorry. Of 
course I never meant to upset you. Don't 
tell me anything. Tm a brute. 

Mrs. G. — No, you aren't, and I will tell. 
. . . There was a man. 

Capt. G. — {Lightly^ Was there ? 
Lucky man ! 

Mrs. G. — {In a whisper^ And I 
thought I cared for him. 

Capt. G. — Still luckier man ! Well ? 

Mrs. G. — And I thought I cared for him 
— and I didn't — and then you came — and 



ICX> THE STORY OF THE GADSRYS, 

I cared for you very, very much indeed. 
That's all. (^Face hidden?) You aren't 
angry, are you ? 

Capt. G. — Angry ? Not in the least. 
{Aside.^ Good Lord, what have I done to 
deserve this angel ? 

Mrs. G. — {Aside.) And he never asked 
for the name ! How funny men are ! But 
perhaps it's as well. 

Capt. G. — That man will go to heaven 
because you once thought you cared for 
him. 'Wonder if you'll ever drag me up 
there ? 

Mrs. G. — (^Firmly,) 'Sha'n't go if you 
don't. 

Capt. G. — Thanks. I say, Pussy, I don't 
know much about your religious beliefs. 
You were brought up to believe in a heaven 
and all that, weren't you ? 

Mrs. G. — Yes. But it was a pincushion 
heaven, with hymn-books in all the pews. 

Capt. G. — ( Wagging his head with in- 
tense conviction.) Never mind. There is a 
pukka heaven. 



THE GARDEN OF EDEN, lOI 

Mrs. G. — Where do you bring that mes- 
sage from, my prophet I 

Capt. G. — Here ! Because we care for 
each other. So it's all right, 

Mrs. G. — {As a troop of langurs crash 
through the branches^ So it's all right. But 
Darwin says that we came from those ! 

Capt. G. — {Placidly^ Ah ! Darwin 
was never in love with an angel. That 
settles it. Sstt, you brutes ! Monkeys, in- 
deed ! You shouldn't read those books. 

Mrs. G. — {Folding her hands?) If it 
pleases my Lord the King to issue proclama- 
tion. 

Capt. G. — Don't, dear one. There are 
no orders between us. Only I'd rather you 
didn't. They lead to nothing, and bother 
people's heads. 

Mrs. G. — Like your first engagement. 

Capt. G. — ( With an immense calm,) 
That was a necessary evil and led to you. 
Are you nothing ? 

Mrs. G. — Not so very much, am I ? 

Capt. G. — All this world and the next to 
me. 



I02 THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS, 

Mrs. G. — ( Very softly?) My boy of boys ! 
Shall I tell you something ? 

Capt. G. — Yes, if it's not dreadful — 
about other men. 

Mrs. G. — It's about my own bad little 
self. 

Capt. G. — Then it must be good. Go on, 
dear. 

Mrs. G. — {Slowly.) I don't know why 
Tm telling you, Pip ; but if ever you marry 
again — {Interlude.) Take your hand from 
my mouth or Til bite/ — In the future, 
then remember ... I don't know quite how 
to put it ! 

Capt. G. — {Snorting indignantly,) Don't 
try. ** Marry again," indeed ! 

Mrs. G. — I must. Listen, my husband. 
Never, never, never tell your wife anything 
that you do not wish her to remember and 
think over all her life. Because a woman — 
yes, I am a woman. Sir — can't forget. 

Capt. G. — By Jove, how do you know 
that? 

Mrs. G. — ( Confusedly.) I don't. Fm 



THE GARDEN OF EDEN, 103 

only guessing. I am — I was — a silly little 
girl ; but I feel that I know so much, oh, so 
very much more than you, dearest. To begin 
with, Tm your wife. 

Capt. G. — So I have been led to believe. 

Mrs. G. — And I shall want to know every 
one of your secrets — to share everything 
you know with you. {Stares rou7td desper- 
ately for lucidity and coherence?) 

Capt. G. — So you shall, dear, so you shall 

— but don't look like that. 

Mrs. G. — For your own sake don't stop 
me, Phil. I shall never talk to you in this 
way again. You must not tell me ! At least, 
not now. Later on, when Tm an old matron 
it won't matter, but if you love me, be very 
good to me now ; for this part of my life I 
shall never forget ! Have I made you under- 
stand ? 

Capt. G. — I think so, child. Have I said 
anything yet that you disapprove of? 

Mrs. G. — Will you be very angry ? That 

— that voice, and what you said about the 
engagement — 



I04 THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS, 

Capt. G. — But you asked to be told that, 
darling. 

Mrs. G. — And that's why you shouldn't 
have told me ! You must be the judge, and, 
oh, Pip, dearly as I love you, I sha'n't be 
able to help you ! I shall hinder you, and 
you must judge in spite of me ! 

Capt. G. — {Meditatively,^ We have a 
great many things to find out together, God 
help us both — say so. Pussy — but we shall 
understand each other better every day ; and 
1 think I'm beginning to see now. How in 
the world did you come to know just the 
importance of giving me just that lead ? 

Mrs. G. — IVe told you that I do7i't know. 
Only somehow it seemed that, in all this new 
life, I was being guided for your sake as well 
as my own. 

Capt. G. — {Aside,) Then Mafflin was 
right ! They know, and we — weVe blind — 
all of us. {Lightly,) 'Getting a little be- 
yond our depth, dear, aren't we ? Til re- 
member, and, if I fail, let me be punished as 
I deserve. 



THE GARDEN OF EDEN, 105 

Mrs. G. — There shall be no punishment. 
We'll start into life together from here — you 
and I — and no one else. 

Capt. G. — And no one else. {^A pause?) 
Your eyelashes are all wet, Sweet? Was 
there ever such a quaint little Absurdity ? 

Mrs. G. — Was there ever such nonsense 
talked before ? 

Capt. G. — (^Knocking the ashes out of his 
pipe^ Tisn*twhatwe say, it's what we don't 
say, that helps. And it's all the profoundest 
philosophy. But no one would understand 
— even if it were put into a book. 

Mrs. G. — The idea ! No — only we our- 
selves, or people like ourselves — if there 
are any people like us. 

Capt. G. — {Magisterially^ All people, 
not like ourselves, are blind idiots. 

Mrs. G. — ( Wiping her eyes.) Do you 
think, then, that there are any people as 
happy as we are ? 

Capt. G. — 'Must be — unless we've ap- 
propriated all the happiness in the world. 

Mrs. G. — {Looking lozvards Simla,) 
Poor dears ! Just fancy if we have ! 



I06 THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS, 

Capt. G. — Then we'll hang on to the 
whole show, for it's a great deal too jolly to 
lose — eh, wife o' mine ? 

Mrs. G. — Oh, Pip, Pip ! How much of 
you is a solemn, married man and how much 
a horrid, slangy school-boy ? 

Capt. G. — When you tell me how much 
of you was eighteen last birthday and how 
much is as old as the Sphinx and twice as 
mysterious, perhaps Til attend to you. Lend 
me that banjo. The spirit moveth me to 
yowl at the sunset. 

Mrs. G. — Mind! It's not tuned. Ah! 
How that jars ! 

Capt. G. — ( Turning pegs.) It's amaz- 
ingly difficult to keep a banjo to proper 
pitch. 

Mrs. G. — It's the same with all musical 
instruments. What shall it be ? 

Capt. G. — ** Vanity," and let the hills 
hear. (Sings through the first and half of 
the second verse. Turning to Mrs. G.) Now, 
chorus ! Sing, Pussy ! 

Both together. — ( Con brio, to the horror. 



THE GARDEN OF EDEN, 107 

of the monkeys who are settling for the 
night.) 

" Vanity, all is Vanity," said Wisdom, scorn- 
ing me — 
I clasped my true Love's tender hand and 
answered frank and free — ee : — 
" If this be Vanity who'd be wise ? 
If this be Vanity who'd be wise ? 
If this be Vanity who'd be wi — ise ? 
{Crescendo.) — Vanity let it be ! " 

Mrs. G. — {Defiantly to the gray of the 
evening sky. ) ** Vanity let it be ! " 

Echo. — {From the Fagoo spur.) Let it 
be! 

CURTAIN. 



XKi^^^ 



^\\\Z UMHa^ y 



OF New YeWt 



FATIMA. 



" And you may go into every room of the house and see 
everything that is there, but into the Blue Room you must not 
go." — 77ie Story of Blue Beard, 

Scene. — The Gadsbys' bungalow in the 
Plains. Time, 1 1 x. u,^ on a Sunday 
viorniiig. Captain Gadsby, in his shirt- 
sleeves, is be7iding over a complete set of 
Hussar s equipment, from saddle to picket- 
i7ig-rope, which is neatly spread over the 
floor of his study. He is smoking an un- 
clean briar, and his foreJuad is puckered 
tvith thought, 

Cait. G. — (7b himself , fjigering a head- 
stall,^ Jack's an ass ! There's enough brass 
on this to load a mule . . . and, if the Amer- 
icans know anything about anything, it can 
be cut down to a bit only. 'Don't want the 

loS 



FA TIM A. 109 

watering-bridle, either. Humbug ! . . . Half 
a dozen sets of chains and pulleys for the same 
old horse ! (^Scratching his head,) Now, 
let's consider it all over from the beginning. 
By Jove, IVe forgotten the scale of weights ! 
Ne'er mind. 'Keep the bit only, and elim- 
inate every boss from the crupper to the 
breastplate. No breastplate at all. Simple 
leather strap across the breast — like the 
Russians. Hi ! Jack never thought of that / 

Mrs. G. — {^Entering hastily, her hand 
bound in a cloth?) Oh, Pip ! IVe scalded 
my hand over that horrid, horrid Tiparee jam. 

Capt. G. — {Absently^ Eh ! Wha-at ? 

Mrs. G. — ( With round-eyed reproach^ 
I've scalded it aw-iv^y ! Aren't you sorry ? 
And I did so want that jam to jam properly. 

Capt. G. — Poor little woman ! Let me 
kiss the place and make it well. ( Unrolling 
bandage?) You small sinner ! Where's that 
scald ? I can't see it. 

Mrs. G. — On the top of the little finger. 
There ! — It's a most 'normous big burn ! 

Capt. G. — (^Kissing little finger ?) Baby ! 



I lO THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS. 

Let Hyder look after the jam. You know I 
don*t care for sweets. 

Mrs. G. — In-deed ? . . . Pip ! 

Capt. G. — Not of that kind, anyhow. 
And now run along, Minnie, and leave me to 
my own base devices. Tm busy. 

Mrs. G. — ( Calmly settling herself in 
long chair.) So I see. What a mess youVe 
making ! Why have you brought all that 
smelly leather stuff into the house ? 

Capt. G. — To play with. Do you mind, 
dear ? 

Mrs. G. — Let me play, too. Td like it. 

Capt. G. — Tm afraid you wouldn't. Pussy. 
. . . Don't you think that jam will burn, or 
whatever it is that jam does when it's not 
looked after by a clever little housekeeper? 

Mrs. G. — I thought you said Hyder could 
attend to it. I left him in the veranda, stir- 
ring — when I hurt myself so. 

Capt. G. — (^His eye returning to the 
equipment^ Po-oor little woman ! . . . 
Three pound four and seven is three eleven, 
and that can be cut down to two eight, with 



FATIMA. Ill 

just a /^^-tle care, without weakening any- 
thing. Farriery is all rot in incompetent 
hands. What's the use of a shoe-case when 
a man's scouting ? He can't stick it on with 
a lick — like a stamp — the shoe ! Skittles ! 

Mrs. G. — What's skittles ? Pah ! What 
is this leather cleaned with ? 

Capt. G. — Cream and champagne and 
. . . Look here, dear, do you really want to 
talk to me about anything important ? 

Mrs. G. — No. I've done my accounts, 
and I thought I'd like to see what you're 
doing. 

Capt. G. — Well, love, now you've seen 
and . . . Would you mind? . . . That is 
to say . . . Minnie, I really am busy. 

Mrs. G. — You want me to go ? 

Capt. G. — Yes, dear, for a little while. 
This tobacco will hang in your dress, and 
saddlery doesn't interest you. 

Mrs. G. — Everything you do interests me, 
Pip. 

Capt. G. — Yes, I know, I know, dear. 
I'll tell you all about it some day when I've 



112 THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS. 

put a head on this thing. In the mean- 
time . . . 

Mrs. G. — Tm to be turned out of the 
room like a troublesome child ? 

Capt. G. — No-o. I don't mean that ex- 
actly. But, you see, I shall be tramping up 
and down, shifting these things to and fro, 
and I shall be in your way. Don't you think 
so ? 

Mrs. G. — Can't I lift them about ? Let 
me try. (^Reaches forward to trooper s 
saddle,^ 

Capt. G. — Good gracious, child, don't 
touch it. You'll hurt yourself (^Picking up 
saddle?) Little girls aren't expected to 
handle nu^ndahs. Now, where would you 
like it put ? (^Holds saddle above his head^ 

Mrs. G. — {^A break m her voice ^ No- 
where. Pip, how good you are — and how 
strong ! Oh, what's that ugly red streak in- 
side your arm ? 

Caff. G. — {^Lowering saddle quickly^ 
Nothing. It's a mark of sorts. {Aside.) 
And Jack's coming to tiffin with his notions 
all cut and dried ! 



FATIMA, 113 

Mrs. G. — I know it's a mark, but I've 
never seen it before. It runs all up the arm; 
What is it ? 

Capt. G. — A cut — if you want to 
know. 

Mrs. G. — Want to know! Of course I 
do ! I can't have my husband cut to pieces 
in this way. How did it come? Was it an 
accident ? Tell me, Pip. 

Capt. G. — {Grimly,) No. Twasn't an 
accident. I got it — from a man — in 
Afghanistan. 

Mrs. G. — In action? Oh, Pip, and you 
never told me ! 

Capt. G. — Fd forgotten all about it. 

Mrs. G. — Hold up your arm ! What a 
horrid, ugly scar ! Are you sure it doesn't 
hurt now ? How did the man give it you ? 

Capt. G. — {Desperately looking at his 
watch?) With a knife. I came down — 
Old Van Loo did, that's to say — and fell on 
my leg, so I couldn't run. And then this 
man came up and began chopping at me as I 
sprawled. 



1 14 THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS. 

Mrs. G. — Oh, don't, don't! That's 
enough ! . . . Well, what happened ? 

Capt. G. — I couldn't get to my holster, 
and Mafflin came round the corner and 
stopped the performance. 

Mrs. G. — How ? He's such a lazy man, 
I don't believe he did. 

Capt. G. — Don't you ? I don't think the 
man had much doubt about it. Jack cut his 
head off. 

Mrs. G.-- Cut — his— head— off! **With 
one below " as they say in the books ? 

Capt. G. — I'm not sure. I was too inter- 
ested in myself to know much about it. 
Anyhow, the head was off, and Jack was 
punching old Van Loo in the ribs to make 
him get up. Now you know all about it, 
dear, and now . . . 

Mrs. G. — You want me to go, of course. 
You never told me about this, though I've 
been married to you for ever so long ; and 
you never would have told me if I hadn't 
found out ; and you never do tell me any- 
thing about yourself, or what you do, or 
what you take an interest in. 



FATIMA, 115 

Capt. G. — Darling, Fm always with you, 
aren*t I ? 

Mrs. G. — Always in my pocket, you were 
going to say. I know you are ; but you are 
always thinking away from me. 

Capt. G. — ( Trying to hide a smile.) 
Am I ? I wasn't aware of it. I'm awf 'ly 
sorry. 

Mrs. G. — (JPiteously?) Oh, don't make 
fun of me ! Pip, you know what I mean. 
When you are reading one of those things 
about Cavalry, by that idiotic Prince — why 
doesn't he be a Prince instead of a stable- 
boy ? 

Capt. G. — Prince Kraft a stable-boy ! 
Oh, my Aunt ! Never mind, dear ! You 
were going to say ? 

Mrs. G. — It doesn't matter. You don't 
care for what I say. Only — only you get 
up and walk about the room, staring in front 
of you, and then Mafiflin comes in to dinner, 
and after I'm in the drawing-room I can hear 
you and him talking, and talking, and talk- 
ing, about things I can't understand, and — 



1 16 THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS, 

oh, I get so tired and feel so lonely ! — I don't 
want to complain and be a trouble, Pip ; but 
I do — indeed I do ! 

Capt. G. — My poor darling ! I never 
thought of that. Why don't you ask some 
nice people in to dinner ? 

Mrs. G. — Nice people ! Where am I to 
find them ? Horrid frumps ! And if I did, 
I shouldn't be amused. You know I only 
v^2iW\.you. 

Capt. G. — And you have me surely, 
Sweetheart ? 

Mrs. G. — I have not ! Pip, why don't 
you take me into your life ? 

Capt. G. — More than I do ? That would 
be difficult, dear. 

Mrs. G. — Yes, I suppose it would — to 
you. Tm no help to you — no companion 
to you ; and you like to have it so. 

Capt. G. — Aren't you a little unreason- 
able, Pussy? 

Mrs. G. — {^Stamping her foot?) I'm the 
most reasonable woman in the world — when 
I'm treated properly. 



FATIMA. 117 

Capt. G. — And since when have I been 
treating you improperly ? 

Mrs. G. — Always — and since the begin- 
ning. You know you have. 

Capt. G. — I don't. But Fm willing to be 
convinced. 

Mrs. G. — (^Pointing to saddlery.) 
There ! 

Capt. G. — How do you mean ? 

Mrs. G. — What does all that mean ? Why 
am I not to be told ? Is it so precious ? 

Capt. G. — I forget its exact Government 
value just at present. It means that it is a 
great deal too heavy. 

Mrs. G. — Then why do you touch it ? 

Capt. G. — To make it lighter. See here, 
little love, I've one notion and Jack has 
another, but we are both agreed that all this 
equipment is about thirty pounds too heavy. 
The thing is how to cut it down without 
weakening any part of it, and, at the same 
time, allowing the trooper to carry every- 
thing he wants for his own comfort — socks 
and shirts and things of that kind. 



Il8 THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS, 

Mrs. G. — Why doesn't he pack them in a 
little trunk ? 

Capt. G. — (^Kissing her?) Oh, you dar- 
ling ! Pack them in a little trunk, indeed ! 
Hussars don't carry trunks, and it's a most 
important thing to make the horse do all the 
carrying. 

Mrs. G. — But why need you bother about 
it ? You're not a trooper. 

Capt. G. — No ; but I command a few 
score of him ; and equipment is nearly 
everything in these days. 

Mrs. G. — More than me ? 

Capt. G. — Stupid ! Of course not ; but 
it's a matter that I'm tremendously interested 
in, because if I or Jack, or I and Jack, hack 
out some sort of lighter saddlery and all 
that, it's possible that we may get it adopted. 

Mrs. G. — How ? 

Capt. G. — Sanctioned at Home, where 
they will make a sealed pattern — a pattern 
that all the saddlers must copy — and so it 
will be used by all the regiments. 

Mrs. G. — And that interests you ? 



FATIMA. 119 

Capt. G. — It's part of my profession, 
y'know, and my profession is a good deal to 
me. Everything in a soldier's equipment is 
important, and if we can improve that equip- 
ment, so much the better for the soldiers and 
for us. 

Mrs. G.— Who's** us"? 

Capt. G. — Jack and I, though Jack's 
notions are too radical. What's that big 
sigh for, Minnie ? 

Mrs. G. — Oh, nothing . . . and you've 
kept all this a secret from me ! Why ? 

Capt. G. — Not a secret, exactly, dear. I 
didn't say anything about it to you because I 
didn't think it would amuse you. 

Mrs. G. — And am I only made to be 
amused ? 

Capt. G. — No, of course. I merely mean 
that it couldn't interest you. 

Mrs. G. — It's your work and — and if you'd 
let me, I'd count all these things up. If they 
are too heavy, you know by how much they 
are too heavy, and you must have a list of 
things made out to your scale of lightness, 
and — 



I20 THE STORY OF THE GADSBVS. 

Capt. G. — I have got both scales some- 
where in my head ; but it's hard to tell how 
light you can make a headstall, for instance, 
until you Ve actually had a model made. 

Mrs. G. — But if you read out the list, I 
could copy it down, and pin it up there just 
above your table. Wouldn't that do ? 

Capt. G. -^ It would be awf 'ly nice, dear, 
but it would be giving you trouble for noth- 
ing. I can't work that way. I go by rule of 
thumb. I know the present scale of weights, 
and the other one — the one that Tm trying 
to work to — will shift and vary so much that 
I couldn't be certain, even if I wrote it down. 

Mrs. G. — Tm so sorry. I thought I might 
help. Is there anything else that I could be 
of use in ? 

Capt. G. — (^Looking round the room.) I 
can't think of anything. You're always help- 
ing me, you know^ 

Mrs. G. — Ami? How? 

Capt. G. — You are you of course, and as 
long as you're near me — I can't explain 
exactly, but it's in the air. 



FA TIM A, 121 

Mrs. G. — And that's why you wanted to 
send me away ? 

Capt. G. — That's only when I'm trying to 
do work — grubby work like this. 

Mrs. G. — Mafflin's better, then, isn't he ? 

Capt. G. — (^Rashly.) Of course he is. 
Jack and I have been thinking down the 
same groove for two or three years about this 
equipment. It's our hobby, and it may really 
be useful some day. 

Mrs. G. — {After a pause.) And that's 
all that you have away from me ? 

Capt. G. — It isn't very far away from you 
now. Take care that the oil on that bit 
doesn't come off on your dress. 

Mrs. G. — I wish — I wish so much that 
I could really help you. I believe I could 
... if I left the room. But that's not what 
I mean. 

Capt. G. — {Aside,) Give me patience ! 
I wish she would go. {Aloud,) I assure 
you you can't do anything for me, Minnie, and 
I must really settle down to this. Where's 
my pouch ? 



122 THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS, 

Mrs. G. — ( Crossing to writing-table ?^ 
Here you are, Bear. What a mess you keep 
your table in ! 

Capt. G. — Don't touch it. There's a 
method in my madness, though you mightn't 
think it. 

Mrs. G. — {At table ^ I want to look. 
. . . Do you keep accounts, Pip ? 

Capt. G. — {Bending over saddlery?) Of 
a sort. Are you rummaging among the 
Troop papers ? Be careful. 

Mrs. G. — Why? I sha'nt disturb any- 
thing. Good gracious ! I had no idea that 
you had anything to do with so many sick 
horses. 

Capt. G. — 'Wish I hadn't, but they insist 
on falling sick. Minnie, if I were you I 
really should not investigate those papers. 
You may come across something that you 
won't like. 

Mrs. G. — Why will you always treat me 
like a child ? I know I'm not displacing the 
horrid things. 

Capt. G. — {Resignedly?) Very well, then. 



FA TIM A. 123 

Don't blame me if anything happens. Play 
with the table and let me go on with the 
saddlery. (^Slipping hand into trousers- 
pocket?) Oh, the deuce ! 

Mrs. G. — {Her back to G.) What's that 
for? 

Capt. G. — Nothing, (Aside.) There's 
not much of importance in it, but I wish I'd 
torn it up. 

Mrs. G. — {Turning over contents of table?) 
I know you'll hate me for this ; but I do want 
to see what your work is like. {A pause?) 
Pip, what are ** farcy-buds " ? 

Capt. G. — Hah ! Would you really like 
to know ? They aren't pretty things. 

Mrs. G. — This Journal of Veterinary 
Science says they are of ** absorbing inter- 
est." Tell me. 

Capt. G. — {Aside?) It may turn her 
attention. 

Gives a long and designedly loathsome 
account of glanders and farcy. 

Mrs. G. — Oh, that's enough. Don't go 
on ! 



• • 



1 24 THE STOR Y OF THE GA DSB YS. 

Capt. G. But you wanted to know. 
Then these things suppurate and matterate 
and spread — 

Mrs. G. — Pip, youVe making me sick ! 
YouVe a horrid, disgusting school-boy. 

Capt. G. — ( On his knees among the 
bridles?) You asked to be told. It's not my 
fault if you worry me into talking about 
horrors. 

Mrs. G. — Why didn't you say — No ? 

Caff. G. — Good Heavens, child ! Have 
you come in here simply to bully me ? 

Mrs. G. — I bully you ? How could I ! 
YouVe so strong. {Hysterically,) Strong 
enough to pick me up and put me outside 
the door, and leave me there to cry. Aren't 
you ? 

Capt. G. — It seems to me that you're an 
irrational little baby. Are you quite well ? 

Mrs. G. — Do I look ill? {Returning to 
table?) Who is your lady friend with the 
big gray envelope and the fat monogram 
outside ? 

Capt. G. — {Aside.') Then it wasn't in 



FATIMA. 125 

the drawers, confound it. (Aloud,) ** God 
made her, therefore let her pass for a 
woman." You remember what farcy-buds 
are like ? 

Mrs. G. — (Showing envelope^ This has 
nothing to do with them, I'm going to open 
it. May I ? 

Capt. G. — Certainly, if you want to. Fd 
sooner you didn't, though. I don't ask to 
look at your letters to the Deercourt girl. 

Mrs. G. — You'd better not. Sir! {Takes 
letter from envelope?) Now, may I look ? 
If you say no, I shall cry. 

Capt. G. — You've never cried in my 
knowledge of you, and I don't believe you 
could. 

Mrs. G. — I feel very like it to-day, Pip. 
Don't be hard on me. (Reads letter^ It 
begins in the middle, without any ** Dear 
Captain Gadsby," or anything. How funny ! 

Capt. G. — (Aside?) No, it's not Dear 
Captain Gadsby, or anything, now. How 
funny ! 

Mrs. G.-— What a strange letter ! (Reads.) 



126 THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS: 

" And so the moth has come too near the 
candle at last, and has been singed into — 
shall I say Respectability ? I congratulate 
him, and hope he will be as happy as he 
deserves to be." What does that mean ? Is 
she congratulating you about our marriage ? 

Capt. G. — Yes, I suppose so. 

Mrs. G. — {^Still reading letter^ She 
seems to be a particular friend of yours. 

Capt. G. — Yes. She was excellent matron 
of sorts — a Mrs. Herriott — wife of a 
Colonel Herriott. I used to know some of 
her people at Home long ago — before I 
came out. 

Mrs. G. — Some Colonels' wives are young 
— as young as me. I knew one who was 
younger. 

Capt. G. — Then it couldn't have been Mrs. 
Herriott. She was old enough to have been 
your mother, dear. 

Mrs. G. — I remember now. Mrs. Scargill 
was talking about her at the Duffins' tennis, 
before you came for me, on Tuesday. Cap- 
tain Mafflin said she was a ** dear old woman." 



FA TIM A. 127 

Do you know, I think Mafflin is a very clumsy 
man with his feet. 

Capt. G. — (Aside.) Good old Jack! 
(Aloud.) Why, dear? 

Mrs. G. — He had put his cup down on the 
ground then, and he literally stepped into it. 
Some of the tea spirted over my dress — the 
gray one. I meant to tell you about it before. 

Capt. G. — (Aside.) There are the mak- 
ings of a strategist about Jack, though his 
methods are coarse. (AUud.) You'd better 
get a new dress, then. (Aside.) Let us 
pray that that will turn her. 

Mrs. G. — Oh, it isn't stained in the least. 
I only thought that Fd tell you. (Returning 
to letter.) What an extraordinary person ! 
(Reads.) " But need I remind you that you 
have taken upon yourself a charge of ward- 
ship " — what in the world is a charge of 
wardship ? — ** which, as you yourself know, 
may end in Consequences "... 

Capt. G. — (Aside.) It's safest to let *em 
see everything as they come across it ; but 
'seems to me that there are exceptions to the 



128 THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS. 

rule. {Aloud?) I told you that there was 
nothing to be gained from rearranging my 
table. 

Mrs. G. — {Absently^ What does the 
woman mean ? She goes on talking about 
Consequences — ** almost inevitable Conse- 
quences " with a capital C — for half a page. 
{Flushing scarlet^ Oh, good gracious! 
How abominable ! 

Capt, G. — {Promptly^ Do you think 
so ? Doesn't it show a sort of motherly in- 
terest in us ? (Aside.) Thank Heaven, 
Harry always wrapped her meaning up safely ! 
(Aloud.) Is it absolutely necessary to go on 
with the letter, darling ? 

Mrs. G. — It's impertinent — it's simply 
horrid. What rigkl has this woman to write 
in this way to you ? She oughtn't to. 

Capt. G. — ^When you write to the Deercourt 
girl, I notice that you generally fill three or four 
sheets. Can't you let an old woman babble 
on paper once in a way ? She means well. 

Mrs. G. — I don't care. She shouldn't 
write, and if she did, you ought to have shown 
me her letter. 



FA TIM A. 129 

Capt. G. — Can't you understand why I 
kept it to myself, or must I explain at length 

— as I explained the farcy-buds ? 

Mrs. G. — (^Furiously,) Pip, I hate you ! 
This is as bad as those idiotic saddle-bags on 
the floor. Never mind whether it would 
please me or not, you ought to have given it 
to me to read. 

Capt. G. — It comes to the same thing. 
You took it yourself. 

Mrs. G. — Yes, but if I hadn't taken it, 
you wouldn't have said a word. I think this 
Harriet Herriott — it's like a name in a book 

— is an interfering old Thing. 

Capt. G. — (^Aside.) So long as you 
thoroughly understand that she is old, I don't 
much care what you think. (A/ot^d.) Very 
good, dear. Would you like to write and tell 
her so ? She's seven thousand miles away. 

Mrs. G. — I don't want to have anything 
to do with her, but you ought to have told 
me. ( Turning to last page of letter?) And 
she patronizes me, too. /'ve never seen her ! 
{^Reads.) '* I do not know how the world 



130 THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS, 

Stands with you. In all human probability I 
shall never know ; but whatever I may have 
said before, I pray for her sake more than for 
yours that all may be well I have learnt 
what misery means, and I dare not wish that 
any one dear to you should share my knowl- 
edge." 

Capt. G. — Good God ! Can't you leave 
that letter alone, or, at least, can't you refrain 
from reading it aloud ? IVe been through it 
once. Put it back on the desk. Do you 
hear me ? 

Mrs. G. — {^Irresolutely.^ I sh — sha'n't ! 
(^Looks at G.'s eyes.) Oh, Pip, please ! I 
didn't mean to make you angry — 'Deed, I 
didn't. Pip, I'm so sorry. I know I've 
wasted your time . . . 

Capt. G. — ( Grimly.) You have. Now, 
will you be good enough to go ... if there 
is nothing more in my room that you are 
anxious to pry into ? 

Mrs. G. — (^Putting out her hands.) Oh, 
Pip, don't look at me like that ! I've never 
seen you look like that before and it hu-urts 



FATIMA, 131 

me ! Tm sorry. I oughtn't to have been 
here at all, and — and — and — {sobbing). 
Oh, be good to me ! Be good to me ! 
There's only you — anywhere ! 

Breaks down in long chair, hiding face in 
cushions, 

Capt. G. — (Aside.) She doesn't know 
how she flicked me on the raw. (A/oud^ 
bending over chair,) I didn't mean to be 
harsh, dear — I didn't really. You can stay 
here as long as you please, and do what you 
please. Don't cry like that. You'll make 
yourself sick. (Aside.) What on earth 
has come over her ? (A/oud.) Darling, 
what's the matter with you ? 

Mrs. G. — (Her face still hidden.) Let 
me go — let me go to my own room. Only 
— only say you aren't angry with me. 

Capt. G. — Angry with you, love ! Of 
course not. I was angry with myself. I'd 
lost my temper over the saddlery. . . . Don't 
hide your face, Pussy. I want to kiss it. 

Bends lower, Mrs. G. slides right arm 
round his neck. Several interludes and much 
sobbing. 



132 THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS. 

Mrs. G. — (^In a whisper,^ I didn't mean 
about the jam when I came in to tell you — 

Capt. G. — Bother the jam and the equip- 
ment ! {^Interlude?) 

Mrs. G. — instill more faintly^ My fin- 
ger wasn't scalded at all. I — I wanted to 
speak to you about — about — something 
else, and — I didn't know how. 

Capt. G. — Speak away, then. {Looking 
ifito her eyes^ Eh ! Wha — at ? Minnie ! 
Here, don't go away ! You don't mean ? 

Mrs. G. — {Hysterically, backing to porti- 
ere and hiding her face in its folds ^ The 
— the Almost Inevitable Consequences! 
{Flits through portiere as G. attempts to catch 
her, and bolts herself in her own 7'oom,) 

Capt. G. — {His arms full of portiere,) 
Oh ! {Sitting down heavily in chair,) I'm 
a brute — a pig — a bully, and a blackguard. 
My poor, poor little darling ! ** Made to be 
amused only ! " . . . 

curtain. 



THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW. 



" Knowing Good and Evil." 

Scene. — The Gadsbys bungalow in the 
Plains, in Ju7ie, Punkah-coolies asleep 
in veranda where Capt. Gadsby is walking 
up and dow7i. Doctor' j* trap in porch. 
Junior CnwLM^si fluctuating generally and 
ufteasily through the house. Timey 3.40 
A.M. Heat 94" in veranda. 

Doctor. — (^Co7ning ifito veranda and 
touching G. on the shoulder.) You had 
better go in and see her now. 

Caff. G. — i^The color of good cigar-ash.) 
Eh, wha-at ? Oh, yes, of course. What did 
you say? 

Doctor. — {Syllable by syllable?) Go — 
in — to — the — room — and — see — her. 

133 



\ 



134 THE STORY OF THE GADSBVS, 

She wants to speak to you. {^Aside, testily?) 
I shall have him on my hands next. 

Junior Chaplain. — (/^ half-lighted din- 
ing-room,^ Isn't there any — ? 

Doctor. — {Savagely.^ Hsh, you little 
fool ! 

Junior Chaplain. — Let me do my work. 
Gadsby, stop a minute ! {^Edges after G.) 

Doctor. — Wait till she sends for you at 
least — at least, Man alive, he'll kill you if 
you go in there ! What are you bothering 
him for ? 

Junior Chaplain. — ( Coming into ver- 
anda?) IVe given him a stiff brandy-peg. 
He wants it. You Ve forgotten him for the 
last ten hours and — forgotten yourself too. 

G. enters bedroom y which is lit by one 
night-light. Ayah on the floor pretending to 
be asleep. 

Voice. — {^From the bed,) All down the 
street — stich bonfires! Ayah, go and, put 
them -out! (^Appealingly,) How can I 
sleep with an installation of the CLE. in 
my room ? No — not C. L E. Something 
else. What was it ? 



THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW, 1 35 

Capt. G. — {Trying to control his voice?) 
Minnie, I'm here. {Bending over bed.) 
Don't you know me, Minnie ? It's me — it's 
Phil — it's your husband. 

Voice. — {Mechanically,) It's me — it's 
Phil — it's your husband. 

Capt. G. — She doesn't know me! . . . 
It's your own husband, darling. 

Voice. — Your own husband, darling. 

Ayah. — ( With an inspiratio7t,) Mem- 
sahib understanding all / saying. 

Capt. G. — Make her understand me then 
— quick ! 

Ayah. — {Hand on Mrs. G.'s forehead?) 
Memsahib! Captain Sahib aya. 

Voice. — Salavi do, {Fretfully?) I 
know I'm not fit to be seen. 

Ayah. — {Aside to G.) Say '' mar^ieen'' 
same as at breakfash. 

Cavy, G. — Good morning, little woman. 
How are we to-day ? 

Voice. — That's Phil. Poor old Phil. 
( Viciously,) Phil, you fool, I can't see you. 
Come nearer. 



136 THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS. 

Capt. G. — Minnie ! Minnie ! It's me — 
yon know me ? 

Voice. — (^Mockingly.) Of course I do. 
Who does not know the man who was so 
cruel to his wife — almost the only one he 
ever had ? 

Capt. G. — Yes, dear. Yes — of course, 
of course. But won't you speak to him? 
He wants to speak to you so much. 

Voice. — They'd never let him in. The 
Doctor would give darwaza band even if he 
were in the house. He'll never come. 
(^Despairingly?) Oh, Judas ! Judas ! 
Judas ! 

Capt. G. — {^Putti^ig out his arms?) They 
have let him in, and he always was in the 
house. Oh, my love — don't you know me ? 

Voice. — (/« a half chant?) ** And it 
came to pass at the eleventh hour that this 
poor soul repented." It knocked at the 
gates, but they were shut — tight as a plas- 
ter — a great, burning plaster. They had 
pasted our marriage certificate all across the 
door, and it was made of red-hot iron — 



THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW. 1 37 

people really ought to be more careful, you 
know. 

Capt. G. — What am I to do ? ( Takes 
her in his arms?) ' Minnie ! speak to me — 
to Phil. 

Voice. — What shall I say? Oh, tell me 
what to say before it's too late ! They are 
all going away and I can't say anything. 

Capt. G. — Say you know me ! Only say 
you know me ! 

Doctor. — ( IVho has entered quietly^ 
For pity's sake don't take it too much to 
heart, Gadsby. It's this way sometimes. 
They won't recognize. They say all sorts of 
queer things — don't you see ? 

Caff. G.— All right! All right! Go 
away now ; she'll recognize me ; you're both- 
ering her. She must — mustn't she, Doc? 

Doctor. — She will before . . . Have I 
'your leave to try — 

Caff. G. — Anything you please, so long 
as she'll know me. It's only a question of 
— hours, isn't it ? 

Doctor. — (^Professionally.) While there's 



1 



138 THE STORY OF THE GADSBVS. 

life there's hope, y'know. But don't build 
on it. 

Capt. G. — I don't. Pull her together if 
it's possible. (^Astcle,) What have I done 
to deserve this ? 

Doctor. — (^Bending' over bed.) Now, 
Mrs. Gadsby ! We shall be all right to- 
morrow. You must take it, or I sha'n't let 
Phil see you. It isn't nasty, is it ? 

Voice. — Medicines ! Always more medi- 
cines ! Can't you leave me alone ? 

Capt. G. — Oh, leave her in peace, Doc ! 

Doctor. — ( Stepping back, — aside,) May 
I be forgiven if I've done wrong. (^Aloud.) 
In a few minutes she ought to be sensible ; 
but I daren't tell you to look for anything. 
It's only — 

Caff. G. — What? Go ouy man. 

Doctor. — (/« a whisper.) Forcing the 
last rally. 

Capt. G. — Then leave us alone. 

Doctor. — Don't mind what she says at 
first, if you can. They . . . they . . . they 
turn against those they love most sometimes 
in this . . . It's hard, but . . . 



THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW. 1 39 

Capt. G. — Am I her husband or are you ? 
Leave us alone for whatever time we have 
together. 

Voice. — (^Confidentially.^ And we were 
engaged quite suddenly, Emma. I assure 
you that I never thought of it for a moment ; 
but O my little Me ! — I don't know what 
I should have done if he hadnt proposed. 

Capt. G. — She thinks of that Deercourt 
girl before she thinks of me. (^Alotid,) 
Minnie ! 

Voice. — Not from the shops, Mummy 
dear. You can get the real leaves from 
Kaintu, and {laughing weakly) never mind 
about the blossoms . . . Dead white silk is 
only fit for widows, and I wont wear it. It's 
as bad as a winding-sheet. {A long pause?) 

Capt. G. — I never asked a favor yet. If 
there is anybody to listen to me, let her 
know me — even if I die too ! 

Voice. — ( Very faintly,) Pip, Pip dear. 

Capt. G. — I'm here, darling. 

Voice. — What has happened ? They've 
been bothering me so with medicines and 



140 THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS. 

things, and they wouldn't let you come and see 
me. I was never ill before. Am I ill now ? 

Capt. G. — You — you aren't quite well. 

Voice. — How funny ! Have I been ill 
long? 

Capt. G. — Some days ; but you'll be all 
right in a little time. 

Voice. — Do you think so, Pip ? I don't 
feel well and . . . Oh ! what have they done 
to my hair ? 

Capt. G. — I d-d-don't know. 

Voice. — They've cut it off. What a 
shame ! 

Capt. G. — It must have been to make 
your head cooler. 

Voice. — 'Just like a boy's wig. Don't I 
look horrid ? 

Capt. G. — Never looked prettier in your 
life, dear. (Aside.) How am I to ask her 
to say good-by ? 

Voice. — I don't /eel pretty. I feel very 
ill. My heart won't work. It's nearly dead 
inside me, and there's a funny feeling in my 
eyes. Everything seems the same distance 



THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW. I41 

— you and the almirah and the table — in- 
side my eyes or miles away. What does it 
mean, Pip? 

Capt. G. — You're a little feverish, Sweet- 
heart — very feverish. {^Breaking down,) 
My love ! my love ! How can I let you go. ? 

Voice. — I thought so. Why didn't you 
tell me that at first ? 

Caft. G.— What? 

Voice. — That I am going to . . . die. 

Capt. G. — But you aren't ! You sha'n't. 

Ayah. — (^Stepping into veranda after a 
glance at the bed,) Punkah chor do ! 

Voice. — It's hard, Pip. So very, very 
hard after one year — just one year. ( Wail- 
ing^ And I'm only twenty. Most girls 
aren't even married at twenty. Can't they do 
anything to help me ? I don't want to die. 

Qkvy, G. — Hush, dear. You won't. 

Voice. — What's the use of talking ? Help 
me ! You've never failed me yet. Oh, Phil, 
help me to keep alive. {^Feverishly ^ I don't 
believe you wish me to live. You weren't a 
bit sorry when that horrid Baby thing died, 
I wish I'd killed Baby ! ^ 



142 THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS. 

Capt. G. — (^Drawing his hand across his 
forehead,) It's more than a man's meant to 
bear — it's not right. {Aloud.) Minnie, 
love, I'd die for you if it would help. 

Voice. — No more death. There's enough 
already. Pip, don t you die too. 

Capt. G. — I wish I dared. 

Voice. — It says : — ** Till Death do us 

part." Nothing after that . . . and so it 

would be no use. It stops at the dying. 

Why does it stop there ? Only such a very 

short life, too. Pip, I'm sorry we married. 

Capt. G. — No ! Anytlting but that, 
Min! 

Voice. — Because you'll forget and I'll for- 
get. Oh, Pip, dont forget ! I always loved 
you, though -I was cross sometimes. If I 
ever did anything that you didn't like, say you 
forgive me now. 

Capt. G. — You never did, darling. On 
my soul and honor you never did. 1 haven't 
a thing to forgive you. 

Voice. — I sulked for a whole week about 
those petunias. {With a laugh,) What a 



THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW, 143 

little wretch I was, and how grieved you 
were ! Forgive me that, Pip. 

Capt. G. — There's nothing to forgive. Tt 
was my fault. They were too near the drive. 
For God's sake don't talk so, Minnie ! There's 
such a lot to say and so little time to say it 
in. 

Voice. — Say that you'll always love me — 
until the end. 

Capt. G. — Until the end, ( Carried away. ^ 
It's a lie. It must be, because we've loved 
each other. This isn't the end. 

Voice. — {^Relapsing into semi-delirium,) 
My Church- service has an ivory cross on the 
back, and it says so, so it xnust be true. 
** Till Death do us part." . . . But that's a 
lie. (^With a parody of G.'s manner?^ A 
damned lie ! (^Recklessly?) Yes, I can 
swear as well as Trooper Pip. I can't make 
my head think, though. That's because they 
cut off my hair. How can one think with 
one's head all fuzzy ? {Pleadingly,) Hold 
me, Pip ! Keep me with you always and 
always. {^Relapsing,) But if you marry 



14^. THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS. 

the Thorn iss girl when I'm dead, TU come 
back and howl under our bed-room window 
all night. Oh, bother ! You'll think I'm a 
jackal. Pip, what time is it? 

Capt. G. — A little before the dawn, dear. 

Voice. — I wonder where I shall be this 
time to-morrow ? 

Capt. G. — Would you like to see the 
Padre ? 

Voice. — Why should I ? He'd tell me 
that I am going to heaven ; and that wouldn't 
be true, because you are here. — Do you 
recollect when he upset the cream-ice all 
over his trousers at the Gassers' tennis ? 

Capt. G. — Yes, dear. 

Voice. — I often wondered whether he got 
another pair of trousers ; but then his are so 
shiny all over that you really couldn't tell 
unless you were told. Let's call him in and 
ask. 

Capt. G. — ( Gravely?) No. I don't think 
he'd like that. 'Your head comfy, Sweet- 
heart ? 

Voice. — {^Faintly with a sigh of content- 



THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW, 145 

ment.) Yeth ! Gracious, Pip, when did 
you shave last ? Your chin's worse than the 
barrel of a musical box. . . . No, don't lift 
it up. I like it. (^A pause.) You said youVe 
never cried at all. You're crying all over my 
cheek. 

Capt. G. — I — I — I can't help it, dear. 

Voice. — How funny ! I couldn't cry now 
to save my life. (G. shivers,) I want to 
sing. 

Capt. G. — Won't it tire you ? 'Better 
not, perhaps. 

Voice. — Why ? I wont be ordered about ! 
(^Begins in a hoarse quaver) : — 

Minnie bakes oaten cake, Minnie brews ale, 
All because her Johnnie's coming home from the sea 
(That's parade, Pip). 

And she grows red as rose who was so pale : 
And " Are you sure the church-clock goes ? " says she. 

{^Pettishly,) I knew I couldn't take the 
last note. How do the bass chords run? 
i^Puts out her hands and begins playing 
piano on the sheet,) 



146 THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS. 

Capt. G. — {^Catching up hands?) Ah! 
Don't do that, Pussy, if you love me. 

Voice. — Love you ? Of course I do. 
Who else should it be? i^A pause, ^ 

Voice. — ( Very clearly,^ Pip, Tm going 
now. Something s choking me cruelly. (/«- 
distinctly^ Into the dark . . . without you, 
my heart. . . . But it's a lie, dear ... we 
mustn't believe it. . . . Forever and ever, 
living or dead. Don't let me go, my hus- 
band — hold me tight. . . . They can't . . . 
whatever happens. {A cough?) Pip — my 
Pip! Not for always . . . and . . . so . . . 
soon ! ( Voice ceases?) 

Pause of ten minutes, G. buries his face 
in the side of the bed while Ayah bends over 
bed from opposite side and feels Mrs. G's 
breast and forehead, 

Capt. G. — (^Rising,) Doctor Sahib ko 
salaam do. 

Ayah. — (^Still by bedside, with a shriek,) 
Ai ! Ai I Tuta — phuta ! My Memsahib ! 
Not getting — not have got — Pusseena 
agya ! (^Fiercely to G.) Tum jao Doctor 
SaM'd kojaldi ! Oh I my Memsahib ! 



THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW. 147 

Doctor. — (^Entering hastily^ Come 
away, Gadsby. {^Bends over bed.) Eh ? The 
Dev — What inspired you to stop the pun- 
kah ? Get out, man — go away — wait out- 
side ! Go ! Here, Ayah ! ( Over his shoul- 
der to G.) Mind, I promise nothing. 

The dawn breaks as G. stumbles into the 
garden. 

Capt. M. — {Reining up at the gate on 
his way to parade and very soberly.) Old 
man, how goes ? 

Capt. G. — {Dazed.) I don't quite know. 
Stay a bit. Have a drink or something. 
Don't run away. You're just getting amus- 
ing. Ha ! Ha ! 

Capt. M. — {Aside ^ What am I let in 
for ? Gaddy has aged ten years in the night. 

Capt. G. — ( Slowly, fongering charger s 
headstall.) Your curb's too loose. 

Capt. M. — So it is. Put it straight, will 
you? {Aside.) I shall be late for parade. 
Poor Gaddy ! 

r 

Capt. G. links and unlinks curb-chain aim- 
lessly, and fi7ially stands staring towards the 
veranda. The day brightens. 



148 THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS. 

Doctor. — {^Knocked out of professional 
gravity^ tramping across flower-beds and 
shaking G/s hands?) It's — it*s — it's ! — 
Gadsby, there's a fair chance — a dashed fair 
chance ! The flicker, y'know. The sweat, 
y'know ! I saw how it would be. The pun- 
kah, y'know. Deuced clever woman that 
Ayah of yours. Just at the right time. A 
dashed good chance ! No — you don't go in. 
We'll pull her through yet. I promise on my 
reputation — under Providence. Send a man 
with this note to Bingle. Two heads better 
than one. 'Specially the Ayah ! Well pull 
her round. (^Retreats hastily to house.) 

Capt. G. — (^His head on neck of M.'s 
charger?) Jack ! I bub — bub — believe, 
I'm going to make a bub — bub — bloody 
exhibition of byself. 

Capt. M. — ^Sniffing openly and feeling 
in his left cuff ?) I b-b — believe I'b doing 
it already. Old bad, what cad I say ? I'b as 
pleased as — Cod dab you, Gaddy ! You're 
one big idiot and I'b adother.' {Pulling 
himself together?) Sit tight! Here comes 
the Devil dodger. * 



THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW. 149 

Junior Chaplain. — ( Who is ftot in the 
Doctor s confidence^ We — we are only men 
in these things, Gadsby. I know that I can 
say nothing now to help — 

Capt. M. — {Jealously,^ Then don't say 
it ! Leave him alone. It's not bad enough 
to croak over. Here, Gaddy, take the chit to 
Bingle and ride hell-for-leather. It'll do you 
good. I can't go. 

Junior Chaplain. — Do him good ! (^Smil- 
ing,) Give me the chit and I'll drive. Let 
him lie down. Your horse is blocking my 
cart — please ! 

Capt. M. — ( Slowly, without reining back^ 
I beg your pardon — I'll apologize. On paper 
if you like. 

Junior Chaplain. — {^Flicking M.'s 
charger^ That'll do, thanks. Turn in, 
Gadsby, and I'll bring Bingle back — ahem 
— '' hell-for-leather." 

Capt. M. — {Solus.) It would ha' served 
me right if he had cut me across the face. 
He can drive too. I shouldn't care to go 
that pace in a bamboo cart. What a faith he 



ISO THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS, 

must have in his Maker — of harness ! Come 
hup, you brute ! ( Gallops off to parade, 
blowing his nose, as the sun rises.) 

Interval of five weeks. 

Mrs. G. — (Very white and pinched, in 
momtfig wrapper at breakfast table,) How 
big and strange the room looks, and oh, how 
glad I am to see it again ! What dust, 
though ! I must talk to the servants. Sugar, 
Pip ? IVe almost forgotten. (^Seriously.) 
Wasn^t I very ill ? 

Capt. G. — I Her than I liked. ( Tenderly.) 
Oh, you bad little Pussy, what a start you 
gave me ! 

Mrs. G. — ril never do it again. 

Capt. G. — You'd better not. And now 
get those poor pale cheeks pink again, or I 
shall be angry. Don't try to lift the urn. 
You'll upset it. Wait. (Comes round to 
head of table and lifts urn.) 

Mrs. G. — (^Quickly.) Khitmatgar, bow- 
archi'khana se kettly lao. (^Drawing down 
GJs face to her ow7i.) Pip dear, / remember. 



THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW. 151 

Capt. G. — What ? 

Mrs. G. — That last terrible night. 

Capt. G. — Then just you forget all about 
it. 

Mrs. G. — {^^o/tfyy her eyes filling?) 
Never. It has brought us very close together, 
my husband. There ! {Interlude.) Vm 
going to give Junda a saree. 

Capt. G. — I gave her fifty dibs. 

Mrs. G. — So she told me. It was a Enor- 
mous reward. Was I worth it ? ( Several in- 
terludes.) Don't ! Here's the khitmatgar. 
— Two lumps or one, Sir? 

curtain. 



THE SWELLING OF JORDAN. 



"If thou hast run with the footmen and they have wea- 
ried thee, then how canst thou contend with horses ? And 
if in the land of peace wherein thou trustedst they have 
wearied thee, how wilt thou do in the swelling of Jordan ? " 

Scene. — The Gadsbys bmigalow in the 

Plains, on a January morning. Mrs. G. 

arguing with bearer in back veranda. 

Capt. M. rides up, 

Capt. M. — 'Mornin', Mrs. Gadsby. How's 
the Infant Phenomenon and the Proud Pro- 
prietor ? 

Mrs. G. — You'll find them in the front 
veranda ; go through the house. Fm Martha 
just now. 

Capt. M. — 'Cumbered about with cares of 

khitmatgars ? I fly. 

Passes into front veranda, where Gadsby is 

152 



THE SWELLING OF JORDAN. 1 53 

watching Gadsby junior, aetate ten months^ 
crawling about the matting. 

Capt. M. — What's the trouble, Gaddy — 
spoiling an honest man's Europe morning 
this way? (^Seeing G. junior.) By Jove, 
that yeariing's comin' on amazingly! Any 
amount of bone below the knee there. 

Capt. G. — Yes, he's a healthy little 
scoundrel. Don't you think his hair's grow- 
ing? 

M. — Let's have a look. Hi! Hst! 
Come here. General Luck, and we'll report 
on you. 

Mrs. G. — ( Within^ What absurd 
name will you give him next ? Why do you 
call him that ? 

M. — Isn't he our Inspector-General of 
Cavalry ? Doesn't he come down in his 
seventeen-two perambulator every morning 
the Pink Hussars parade ? Don't wriggle. 
Brigadier. Give us your private opinion on 
the way the third squadron went past. 
TTrifle ragged, weren't they? 

G. — A bigger set of tailors than the new 



154 THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS. 

draft I don't wish to see. They've given me 
more than my fair share — knocking the 
squadron out of shape. It's sickening ! 

M. — When you're in command, you'll do 
better, young 'un. Can't you walk yet? 
Grip my finger and try. ( To G.) 'Twon't 
hurt his hocks, will it ? 

G. — Oh, no. Don't let him flop, though, 
or he'll lick all the blacking off your boots. 

Mrs. G. — ( Within?) Who's destroying 
my son's character ? 

M. — And my Godson's. I'm ashamed of 
you, Gaddy. Punch your father in the eye. 
Jack ! Don't you stand it ! Hit him again ! 

G. — {^Sotto voce?) Put The Butcha down 
and come to the end of the veranda. I'd 
rather the Wife didn't hear — just now. 

M. — You look awf'ly serious. Anything 
wrong ? 

G. — 'Depends on your view entirely. 
I say, Jack, you won't think more hardly 
of me than you can help, will you ? 
Come further this way. . . . The fact of the 
matter is, that I've made up my mind — at 



THE S WELLING OF JORDAN, 1 5 5 






least Tm thinking seriously of . . . cuttin 
the Service. 

M. — Hwhatt ? 

G. — Don't shout. Fm going to send in 
my papers. 

M. — You ! Are you mad ? 

G. — No — only married. 

M. — Look here ! What's the meaning of 
it all ? You never intend to leave us. You 
carit. Isn't the best squadron of the best 
regiment of the best cavalry in all the world 
good enough for you ? 

G. — {Jerking his head over his shoulder^ 
She doesn't seem to thrive in this God-for- 
saken country, and there's The Butcha to be 
considered and all that, you know. 

M. — Does she say that she doesn't like 
India? 

G. — That's the worst of it. She won't 
for fear of leaving me. 

M. — What are the Hills made for ? 

G. — Not for my wife, at any rate. 

M. — You know too much, Gaddy, and — 
I don't like you any the better for it ! 



156 THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS. 

G. — Never mind that. She wants 
England, and The Butcha would be all the 
better for it. Tm going to chuck. You don't 
understand. 

M. — (^Hotly.) I understand this. One 
hundred and thirty-seven new horses to be 
licked into shape somehow before Luck 
comes round again ; a hairy-heeled draft 
who'll give more trouble than the horses ; a 
camp next cold weather for a certainty ; our- 
selves the first on the roster; the Russian 
shindy ready to come to a head at five minutes' 
notice, and you, the best of us all, backing 
out of it all ! Think a little, Gaddy. You 
wont do it. 

G. — Hang it, a man has some duties 
towards his family, I suppose. 

M. — I remember a man, though, who 
told me, the night after Amdheran, when we 
were picketed under Jagai, and he'd left his 
sword — by the way, did you ever pay 
Ranken for that sword ? — in an Utmanzai's 
head — that man told me that he'd stick by 
me and the Pinks as long as he lived. I 



THE SWELLING OF JORDAN. 157 

don't blame him for not sticking by me — Fm 
not much of a man — but I do blame him for 
not sticking by the Pink Hussars. 

G. — {Uneasily.^ We were little more 
than boys then. Can't you see, Jack, how 
things stand ? Tisn't as if we were serving 
for our bread. We Ve all of us, more or less, 
got the filthy lucre. Tm luckier than some, 
perhaps. There's no call for me to serve on. 

M. — None in the world for you or for us, 
except the Regimental. If you don't choose 
to answer to that, of course . . . 

G. — Don't be too hard on a man. You 
know that a lot of us only take up the thing 
for a few years and then go back to Town 
and catch on with the rest. 

M. — Not lots, and they aren't some of 
Us, 

G. — And then there are one's affairs at 
Home to be considered — my place and the 
rents, and all that. 1 don't suppose my 
father can last much longer, and that means 
the title, and so on. 

M. — 'Fraid you won't be entered in the 



153 THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS. 

Stud Book correctly unless you go Home ? 
Take six months, then, and come out in 
October. If I could slay off a brother or 
two, I s'pose I should be a Marquis of sorts. 
Any fool can be that ; but it needs men, 
Gaddy — men like you — to lead flanking 
squadrons properly. Don't you delude your- 
self into the belief that youVe going Home 
to take your place and prance about among 
pink- nosed Cabuli dowagers. You aren't 
built that way. I know better. 

G. — A man has a right to live his life' as 
happily as he can. You aren't married. 

M. — No — praise be to Providence and 
the one or two women who have had the 
good sense to jawab me. 

G. — Then you don't know what it is to 
go into your own room and see your wife's 
head on the pillow, and when everything else 
is safe and the house bunded up for the night, 
to wonder whether the roof-beams won't give 
and kill her. 

M. — {Aside,) Revelations first and sec- 
ond ! (Aloud.) So-o ! I knew a man 



THE SWELLINt} OF JORDAN, 159 

who got squiffy at our Mess once and con- 
fided to me that he never helped his wife on 
to her horse without praying that she'd break 
her neck before she came back. All hus- 
bands aren't alike, you see. 

G. — What on earth has that to do with 
my case ? The man must ha* been mad, or 
his wife as bad as they make 'em. 

M. — {Aside?) 'No fault of yours if 
either weren't all you say. YouVe forgotten 
the time when you were insane about the 
Herriott woman. You always were a good 
hand at forgetting. {Aloud ^ Not more 
mad than men who go to the other extreme. 
Be reasonable, Gaddy. Your roof-beams are 
sound enough. 

G. — That was only a way of speaking. 
I've been uneasy and worried about the Wife 
ever since that awful business three years 
ago — when — I nearly lost her. Can you 
wonder ? 

M. — Oh, a shell never falls twice in the 
same place. You've paid your toll to mis- 
fortune — why should your Wife be picked 
out more than anybody else's ? 



l6o THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS, 

G. — I can talk just as reasonably as you 
can, but you don't understand — you don't 
understand. And then there's The Butcha. 
Deuce knows where the Ayah takes him to 
sit in the evening ! He has a bit of a 
cough. Haven't you noticed it ? 

M. — Bosh ! The Brigadier's jumping out 
of his skin with pure condition. He's got a 
muzzle like a rose-leaf and the chest of a two- 
year-old. What's demoralized you ? 

G. — Funk. That's the long and the 
short of it. Funk ! 

M. — But what is there to funk? 

G. — Everything. It's ghastly. 

r.I. — Ah ! I see. 

" You don't want to fight, 

And by Jingo when we do, 
You've got the kid, you've got the Wife, 

You've got the money, too." 

That's about the case, eh ? 

G. — I suppose that's it. But it's not for 
myself. It's because of them. At least, I 
think it is. 

M. — Are you sure ? Looking at the mat- 



THE SWELLING OF JORDAN, l6l 

ter in a cold-blooded light, the Wife is pro- 
vided for even if you were wiped out to- 
night. She has an ancestral home to go to, 
money, and the Brigadier to carry on the 
illustrious name. 

G. — Then it is for myself or because they 
are part of me. You don't see it. My 
life's so good, so pleasant, as it is, that I 
want to make it quite safe. Can't you 
understand ? 

M. — Perfectly. ** Shelter -pit for the 
Orf 'cer's charger," as they say in the Line. 

G. — And I have everything to my hand 
to make it so. I'm sick of the strain and the 
worry for their sakes out here ; and there 
isn't a single real difficulty to prevent my 
dropping it altogether. It'll only cost me 
. . . Jack, I hope you'll never know the 
shame that I've been going through for the 
past six months. 

M. — Hold on there ! I don't wish to be 
told. Every man has his moods and tenses 
sometimes. 

G. — {^Laughing bitterly?) Has he ? What 



l62 THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS. 

do you call craning over to see where the 
near- fore lands ? 

M. — In my case it means that I have been 
on the Considerable Bend, and have come to 
parade with a Head and a Hand. It passes 
in three strides. 

G. — {^Lowering voice ^ It never passes 
with me, Jack. Tm always thinking about it. 
Phil Gadsby funking a fall on parade ! Sweet 
picture, isn't it! Draw it for me. 

M. — (^Gravely?) Heaven forbid ! A man 
like you can't be as bad as that. A fall is no 
nice thing, but one never gives it a thought. 

G. — Doesn't one ? Wait till you've got a 
wife and a youngster of your own, and then 
you'll know how the roar of the squadron 
behind you turns you cold all up the back. 

M. — (Aside.) And this man led at 
Amdheran after Bagal-Deasin went under, 
and we were all mixed up together, and he 
came out of the show dripping like a butcher ! 
(Aloud,) Skittles! The men can always 
open out, and you can always pick your 
way more or less. We haven't the dust to 



THE SMELLING OF JORDAN. 163 

bother us, as the men have, and whoever 
heard of a horse stepping on a man ? 

G. — Never — as long as he can see. But 
did they open out for poor Errington ? 

M. — Oh, this is childish ! 

G. — I know it is, and worse than that. I 
don't care. You've ridden Van Loo. Is he 
the sort of brute to pick his way — 'specially 
when we're coming up in column of troop 
with any pace on ? 

M. — Once in a Blue Moon do we gallop 
in column of troop, and then only to save 
time. Aren't three lengths enough for you ? 

G. — Yes — quite enough. They just 
allow for the full development of the smash. 
Tm talking like a cur, I know : but 1 tell you 
that, for the past three months, I've felt every 
hoof of the squadron in the small of my 
back every time that I've led. 

M. — But, Gaddy, this is awful ! 

G. — Isn't it lovely ? Isn't it royal ? A 
Captain of the Pink Hussars watering up his 
charger before parade like the blasted booz- 
ing Colonel of a Black Regiment ! 



\ 



l64 THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS. 

M. — You never did ! 

G. — Once only. He squelched like a 
mussucky and the Troop -Sergeant -Major 
cocked his eye at me. You know old Hafif/s 
eye. I was afraid to do it again. 

M. — I should think so. That was the 
best way to rupture old Van Loo's tummy, 
and make him crumple you up. You knew 
that. 

G. — I didn't care. It took the edge off 
him. 

M. — ** Took the edge off him ! " Gaddy, 
you — you — you mustnt, you know ! Think 
of the men. 

G. — That's another thing I am afraid of. 
D'you s'pose they know ? 

M. — Let's hope not ; but they're deadly 
quick to spot skrim — little things of that 
kind. See here, old man, send the Wife 
Home for the hot weather and come to 
Kashmir with me. We'll start a boat on the 
Dal or cross the Rhotang — ibex or idleness 
— which you please. Only come! You're 
a bit off your oats and you're talking non- 



THE SWELLING OF JORDAN. 165 

sense. Look at the Colonel — swag-bellied 
rascal that he is. He has a wife and no end of 
a bow-window of his own. Can any one of 
us ride round him — chalkstones and all ? I 
can't, and I think I can shove a crock along 
a bit. 

G. — Some men are different. I haven't 
the nerve. Lord help me, I haven't the 
nerve ! I've taken up a hole and a half to 
get my knees well under the wallets. I can't 
help it. I'm so afraid of anything happening 
to me. On my soul, I ought to be broke in 
front of the squadron, for cowardice. 

M. — Ugly word, that. I should never have 
the courage to own up. 

G. — I meant to lie about my reasons when 
I began, but — I've got out of the habit of 
lying to you, old man. Jack, you won't ? . . . 
But I know you won't. 

M. — Of course yot. {^Half aloud ^ The 
Pinks are paying dearly for their Pride. 

G. — Eh ! Wha-at ? 

M. — Don't you know ? We've called Mrs. 
Gadsby the Pride of the Pink Hussars ever 
since she came to us. 



1 66 THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS. 

G. — Tisn't her fault. Don't think that. 
It's all mine. 

M. — What does she say ? 

G. — I haven't exactly put it before her. 
She's the best little woman in the world, Jack, 
and all that . . . but she wouldn't counsel a 
man to stick to his calling if it came between 
him and her. At least, I think — 

M. — Never mind. Don't tell her what you 
told me. Go on the Peerage and Landed- 
Gentry tack. 

G. — She'd see through it. She's five 
times cleverer than I am. 

M. — {Aside ^ Then she'll accept the sac- 
rifice and think a little bit worse of him for 
the rest of her days. 

G. — {Absently.^ I say, do you despise 
me? 

M. — 'Queer way of putting it. Have you 
ever been asked that question ? Think a 
minute. What answer used you to give ? 

G. — So bad as that ? I'm not entitled to 
expect anything more ; but it's a bit hard 
when one's best friend turns round and — 



THE SWELLING OF JORDAN. 1 6/ 

M. — So / have found. But you will have 
consolations — Bailiffs and Drains and Liquid 
Manure and the Primrose League, and, per- 
haps, if youVe lucky, the Colonelcy of a 
Yeomanry Cav-al-ry Regiment — all uniform 
and no riding, I believe. How old are you ? 

G. — Thirty-three. I know it's . . . 

M. — At forty you'll be a fool of a J. P. 
landlord. At fifty you'll own a bath-chair, and 
The Brigadier, if he takes after you, will be 
fluttering the dove-cotes of — what's the par- 
ticular dunghill you're going to ? Also, Mrs. 
Gadsby will be fat. 

G. — (^Limply.) This is rather more than 
a joke. 

M. — D'you think so ? Isn't cutting the 
Service a joke ? It generally takes a man 
fifty years to arrive at it. You're quite right, 
though. It is more than a joke. You've 
managed it in thirty-three. 

G. — Don't make me feel worse than I do. 
Will it satisfy you if I own that I am a shirker, 
a skrimshanker, and a coward ? 

M. — It will noty because I'm the only man 



1 68 THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS, 

in the world who can talk to you like this 
without being knocked down. You mustn't 
take all that IVe said to heart in this way. I 
only spoke — a lot of it at least — out of 
pure selfishness because, because — Oh, 
damn it all, old man, — I don't know what I 
shall do without you. Of course, you Ve got 
the money and the place and all that — and 
there are two very good reasons why you 
should take care of yourself. 

G. — 'Doesn't make it any the sweeter. 
I'm backing out — I know I am. I always 
had a soft drop in me somewhere — and I 
daren't risk any danger to them, 

M. — Why in the world should you? 
You're bound to think of your family — bound 
to think. Er-hmm. If I wasn't a younger 
son I'd go too — be shot if I wouldn't ! 

G. — Thank you, Jack. It's a kind lie, but 
it's the blackest you've told for some time. 
I know what I'm doing, and I'm going into 
it with my eyes open. Old man, I cant help 
it. What would you do if you were in my 
place ? 



THE SWELLING OF JORDAN. 1 69 

M. — (^Astde.) 'Couldn't conceive any 
woman getting permanently between me and 
the Regiment. {Aloud.) 'Can't say. 'Very 
likely I should do no better. I'm sorry for 
you — awf'ly sorry — but ** if them's your sen- 
timents " I believe, I really do, that you are 
acting wisely. 

G. — Do you ? I hope you do. (^In a whis- 
per.) Jack, be very sure of yourself before 
you marry. I'm an ungrateful ruffian to say 
this, but marriage — even as good a marriage 
as mine has been — hampers a man's work, it 
cripples his sword-arm, and oh, it plays Hell 
with his notions of duty ! Sometimes — good 
and sweet as she is — sometimes I could wish 
that I had kept my freedom. . . . No, I don't 
mean that exactly. 

Mrs. G. — {^Coming down veranda.) 
What are you wagging your head over, Pip ? 

M. — ( Turning quickly^ Me, as usual. 
The old sermon. Your husband is recom- 
mending me to get married. 'Never saw such 
a one-idead man ! 

Mrs. G. — Well, why don't you ? I dare 



I/O THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS. 

say you would make some woman very 
happy. 

G. — There's the Law and the Prophets, 
Jack. Never mind the Regiment. Make a 
woman happy. (Aside.) O Lord ! 

M. — We'll see. I must be off to make a 
Troop Cook desperately unhappy. I won't 
have the wily Hussar fed on G. B. T. shin- 
bones. . . . (Hastily^ Surely black ants 
can't be good for The Brigadier. He's pick- 
ing 'em off the chitai and eating 'em. Here, 
Seiior Comandante Don Grubbynose, come 
and talk to me. (Lifts G. junior in his 
arms,) 'Want my watch ? You won't be 
able to put it into your mouth, but you can 
try. (G, Junior drops watch, breaking dial 
and hands,) 

Mrs. G. — Oh, Captain Mafflin, I am so 
sorry ! Jack, you bad, bad little villain. 
Ahhh! 

M. — It's not the least consequence, I as- 
sure you. He'd treat the world in the same 
way if he could get it into his hands. Every- 
thing's made to be played with and broken, 



THE SWELLING OF JORDAN, I /I 

isn't it, young *un? {Tenderly^ ** Oh, 
Diamond, Diamond, thou little knowest the 
mischief that thou hast done." 

Mrs. G. — Mafflin didn't at all like his 
watch being broken, though he was too polite 
to say so. It was entirely his fault for giving 
it to the child. Dem little puds are werry, 
werry feeble, aren't dey, my Jack-in-the-box ? 
( 7t? G.) What did he want to see you for ? 

G. — Regimental shop o' sorts. 

Mrs. G. — The Regiment! Always the 
Regiment. On my word, I sometimes feel 
jealous of Mafiflin. 

G. — ( Wearily.) Poor old Jack ! I don't 
think you need. Isn't it time for The 
Buicha to have his nap ? Bring a chair out 
here, dear. I've got something to talk over 
with you. 

And this is the End of the Story of 
THE Gadsbys. 



— — ^^ ^^^. 

W Nfw v.. 



oj NEVf York- 

L'ENVOI. 



What is the moral ? Who rides may read. 

When the night is thick and the tracks are 
blind 

A friend at a pinch is a friend indeed ; 

But a fool to wait for the laggard behind : 

Down to Gehenna or up to the Throne 

He travels the fastest who travels alone. 

White hands cling to the tightened rein, 
Slipping the spur from* the booted heel, 

Tenderest voices cry, ** Turn again," 
Red lips tarnish the scabbarded steel. 

High hopes faint on a warm hearth-stone — 

He travels the fastest who travels alone. 

One may fall but he falls by himself — 

Falls by himself with himself to blame ; 

One may attain and to him is the pelf. 

Loot of the city in Gold or Fame : 

172 



L ENVOI, 173 

Plunder of earth shall be all his own 
Who travels the fastest and travels alone. 

Wherefore the more ye be holpen and 
stayed — 

Stayed by a friend in the hour of toil, 
Sing the heretical song I have made — 

His be the labor and yours be the spoil. 
Win by his aid and the aid disown — 
He travels the fastest who travels alone. 



61 l^£Vr YOML 



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